Without Reason
by pottersweetie
Summary: DanBlair.When Blair is in a car accident that leaves her with amnesia, everyone is frantic and worried. She can't remember her parents or her friends. She is scared herself, until she recognizes something. Dan Humphrey.
1. Prologue

**Without Reason  
By: pottersweetie**

**Author's Note:** Shouldn't be posting a new story when I have so many I'm working on, but, that's never stopped me before, so, oh well. DanBlair. TVShowbased. Set just about ten or twenty minutes after _The Thin Line Between Chuck and Nate_ and going onward from there in a different direction then the writers intended, obviously. It's set solely in Blair's point of view. Also, forgive me if I get a ton of medical information and/or lingo wrong in this story, I'm not a doctor. If anyone wants to correct me on something like terminology or anything, go ahead and correct me. I'm aware that not all amnesia, or maybe any amnesia for that matter, will work the way it will in this story... But, it is a fan FICTION, so let's pretend. Enjoy, Read, Review!

**Prologue**  
_New York, New York  
Thursday, January 19  
10:55:37 P.M. EST_

"My _God_!" I've just been lurched forward in my seat, palms pressed against the protective shield between the driver and me, bracing myself against the combination of gravity and this taxi driver's insane braking. "Could you be more careful, _maybe_?" I snap, my lips curling at this dirty-looking, unshaven driver.

He looks at me in the rearview mirror and gives me a sort of leering smile, "I'm tryin' sweeat'eart," he says, with some serious attitude.

Honestly, if I'm paying the man he should at least be decent to me, but no, he's cursing every two seconds and driving like a moron.

Why does Serena always insist on taxis? I had a perfectly good limo waiting there to take us home, but no, Serena always insists on public transportation.

God only knows why.

I think of Serena and smile to myself, my best friend, my savior, practically. Whereas everyone on the Upper East Side was shunning me, trying to break me down, Serena came to my rescue tonight. I was all packed, all ready to go to France to spend a semester at Dad's vineyard in Lyon. Sure, it would have meant enduring a semester of gay hand-holding between my father and Roman, and going to the public school near Dad's house in Lyon, but I'd rather have dealt with that than the shit I was being doled here. My boyfriend dumped me, my 'friends' ditched me, Chuck even had the audacity to turn me away... Even Jenny Humphrey thought she was too good for me.

But you know what? I'm glad Serena came and stopped me from leaving. I'm going to show everyone that it takes a lot more than GossipGirl's trash talk to make me run and hide. No. Screw them all, I'm going to come back better than ever. I don't need Nate or Chuck or Kati or Isabel or anyone, except Serena. I'll show them all. They'll be begging me for forgiveness, and it won't take long.

My phone bleeps and I check the text message that appears on my screen.

I feel a little trill of hope.

Is it Nate? Saying he can't bear to see me go? Isabel and Kati saying Jenny and Colleen just don't cut it? They're just not as chic, smart, or pretty as me? I smirk to myself, realizing how ridiculous I sound, even to myself. I flip my phone open and see the text is only from Serena.

_If u need nething just call/txt me ltr luvie! luv u!_

I smile to myself, honestly and truly grateful that I have someone like Serena by my side right now.

_I will. thnx!_ I text back.

Peering outside the window, I realize that the rain that started to drizzle down as I left Serena at The Palace has turned slick and hard. It pounds on the roof of the cab, spilling down the sides of the windows, making me feel safe in this enclosed space of a taxi as we sit at a red light. The driver is listening to some old rock station on the radio that is reporting traffic and weather news every few songs. The volume is obnoxiously loud and I almost want to hit him over the head and tell him to shut the thing off, but seeing as we're almost home, I'll just sit here and ignore him. Central Park is beside me, and even in the rain I can see people walking around outside, either hurrying out of the rain or embracing it. Right now, as we pull out into the traffic again and I bump my head on the back of the headrest by the sheer force of the vehicle moving forward, I almost wish I was outside in the rain.

"Watch how you're driving!" I snap at the driver, absently rubbing the back of my head.

He turns around and gives me a glance, "Hey, pretty lady, why don't you leave the driving to me, huh?"

"Oh, leave the driving to you?" I retort acidly. "Why don't you fucking drive properly!"

Trying to twist his great girth in the seat, he manages to look at me, saying, "Hey, girlie, listen," he begins, but I'm not listening to him. "You become a taxi driver and then we'll talk."

I'm not paying attention, I'm glancing out the windshield, bored. And then I see it. Lights coming right at us. For a moment I don't care. Of course they're going to move away and it'll just be a silly road-rage fight, nothing serious. But it's not the car that's coming that is in the wrong, it's my driver, the driver of the taxi. He's not even looking though! He's still fucking turned around, looking at me! He's scolding me for bitching at him, instead of driving!

"Look out!" I shout and point toward the oncoming car.

But it's too late.

The lights are too close, the tires and breaks are screeching. I hear the honking and the shouting. The taxi driver is angry, surprised, and I'm screaming, terrified and powerless. The crunch of broken glass and clashing metals meet my ears and everything is jolted, everything shifts and changes in a millisecond.

And then...

All I know is blackness.

**Author's Note:** And that's how Blair Waldorf died. Just kidding! Obviously she can't die, you all can probably guess what's going to happen though... Hope you all liked the prologue! Chapter one is coming soon.


	2. It All Falls Down

**Chapter One**  
_New York, New York  
Sunday, January 22  
8:04:57 P.M. EST_

My brain is telling me to wake up, but my body is laughing at the very idea of it.

I can't open my eyes, my eyelids are too heavy and my head hurts too much. My arms and legs are heavy too, as if I couldn't even move them if I tried, they feel like they're filled with sand, sinking onto the bed below me. There's a strange stiff feeling all around my head, like the skin of my scalp and face are pulled tight and are being stretched. I try to swallow, wincing a little. I'm sure my mouth and throat have never been so dry before in my life... Have they? Oh, I don't even remember, nor do I actually care. I know that I feel shitty right now, and all I want is four aspirin and about twelve liters of Evian.

Beside me, I hear a man and a woman muttering. I feel like my ears are filled with cotton though, and it muffles their voices into murmurs. Come to think of it, my whole brain feels cottony, like a thick fog has clouded my head, making it all feel heavy and confused. What the hell is going on? Why do I feel like this?

Fueled by the sheer desire to know what the hell is wrong, I manage to open my eyes and take in my surroundings.

The room is dimly lit, and the ceiling above me is tiled, dotted with tiny office-building-design holes. You know what I mean. The voices come into focus, but I don't understand what they're talking about it. I strain my ears and hear a beeping and a dripping to my right. Knotting my eyebrows I turn my head and see that I'm laying in a metal bed, with an itchy white t-shirt on, and there's a bunch of medical stuff next to me... Am I... I must be in the hospital.

"Harold, I want to find some kind of fix to all of this but there really is no one to sue," the woman's voice says from a different part of the room.

A man sighs, Harold, I'm assuming, "We could sue the car company-"

"Don't be ridiculous!" the woman snaps good-naturedly. "The man is dead, Harold. Blair isn't. That's all that matters. It was an _accident_."

_Blair._

That's me.

Why are these people talking about me?

I swallow hard and manage to rasp, "Hello?"

In a flash the man and the woman are at my bedside, hovering over me. The woman is probably in her late forties, with nice light brown hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. She's dressed immaculately in an emerald green silk top, a tweed jacket and black pants. Her face is neatly made-up, but the whites of her eyes are red and there are slight bags under them. Her smile is strained, as if she's anxious and scared. The man, Harold, I'm assuming, has dark brown wavy hair, with specks of silver sprouting at his hairline. His eyes are big and brown, hopeful and happy. Slightly tanned skin seems to be a little creased with age, and current worry.

He takes hold of my hand and kisses it, "You're finally awake."

Who does this guy think he is, kissing my hand? Ew. He's probably old enough to be my father!

I yank my hand away, "Yes, I'm awake," I manage to say.

The two exchange a confused look.

"Blair, darling, how are you feeling?" the woman asks me.

Darling? What the hell is up with these people?

I swallow, trying to get past the dryness in my throat, "Um- I'm fine. Are you two doctors or something?"

Doctors dressed to the nines in J. Crew and Armani?

Mr. Harold chuckles a little and pats my leg, "Out for three days and you're already being my little sarcastic Bear."

"Bear?" I spit the word out violently. "I'm not anyone's _bear_, thank you very much," I roll my eyes. "And what the fuck do you mean three days?!" I yell. "I was out for three days?!"

Another glance passes between them. Am I speaking a language they don't understand? What the hell is going on? Where are my parents? Where are my friends and family? Where are my doctors? What happened to me that landed me in a three day coma?

The woman speaks, "Blair, you don't remember the accident?"

"What accident?"

"Bear, you were in a car accident."

I-

I was?

Digging deep into the recesses of my brain, I can't even recall a memory of any accident. Did I black out or something?

"Really?" I manage to say. "And I was out for three whole days?"

Harold smiles, "Yes, we were so worried," he tries to hug me, but I physically flinch away.

He looks at me, as if asking what's wrong.

"What is wrong with you people?" I demand. "Why are you all lovey-dovey with me? Do I even know you?"

It's a rhetorical question, of course, but they both say, "Yes," incredulously.

"Who are you?"

"We're your parents," the woman says breathlessly.

Haha, they have got to be kidding me.

Except... I don't think they are.

* * *

"Can you tell me your name?"

I stare at the old, gray doctor in front of me, as if he should get serious. Dr. Ryce, one of the resident neurologists here at New York-Presbyterian, said he was going to ask me some simple questions, but, Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. He waits patiently, as if I really have to think to figure this one out. Of course I know my name, is he on crack or something? Everyone in the room, including Harold and the woman from when I woke up, several trainees, a specialist nurse, and the doctor, all wait, holding their breath. Is this for real?

Dr. Ryce is encouraging, "If you can't answer it, that's fine-"

"I know my name."

He waits.

I roll my eyes. "I'm Blair."

"Your full name, if you can," he prompts.

I want to sigh loudly, but I just say, "My name is Blair-" I cut myself off. "Blair..."

A shuddering breath is drawn in from the woman- my 'mother.'

This is ridiculous! Of course I know my full name, but it feels as if it's been shifted behind fog and smoke, hiding within my brain. It's on the tip of my tongue, really- I feel as if I can say it if I just keep going, but I can't get past Blair.

A. B. C. D-

"Blair Cornelia..."

E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W...

"Blair Cornelia Waldorf."

Harold sighs in relief.

Dr. Ryce nods, "That's very good," he glances at the nurse, making a quick note on his clipboard. "Now, can you tell me when you were born?"

"November ninteenth, nineteen-ninety."

He makes a tick mark on his clipboard, looking up to say, "Do you know what day it is?"

"Apparently I've been in a three-day coma, doc, so, no, I couldn't say," I retort acidly, giving him a withering look.

Scribbling onto his notes, once again, follows my words, and I wait. Two of the trainees begin to whisper soundlessly, and I look at them, glaring. When they meet my eyes, they cease their chatter, looking down, properly scolded. I smirk to myself in satisfaction, but my 'parents' are looking at me, staring, the whole time. This is so bizarre. They're not my parents. I want my real parents here, but- They're obviously not.

Dr. Ryce says, "Blair, when the taxi you were in collided with an oncoming car, the impact threw you foreward. You weren't wearing a seat-belt, but the divider stopped you," he tells me, but I have no recollection of any of this. "You did hit your head- pretty severely- and your brain was rattled quite a bit in your skull."

I cringe.

"There was some swelling, but no internal bleeding, and no severe damage," he looks at me, speaking slowly. "It seems you were very lucky... Physically- but we'll have to do some more tests-"

Cutting him off, I demand, "What do you mean _'physically?'_ What's wrong with me otherwise?"

He glances at the nurse again, and then at my parents, "Blair, do you know who these people are?"

I look at Harold and the woman again, and then back to the doctor, "Apparently they're my parents?"

"Apparently?" he echoes, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Throwing my hands up in exasperation, tugging on the I.V. in my arm and a wire connected to my skin, I say, "That's what they've been telling me."

"But, are they- _really_- your parents?" he asks, quite serious.

I roll my eyes, "No."

"Who are your parents?"

Staring at him, I narrow my eyes. He's speaking to me as if I'm a five year old, having trouble holding the scissors. Obviously I know who my parents are, they're- I don't- Their names are lost in the fog of my brain again. But I know their names- I do- it's just- I can't get the words to form.

The doctor nods an understanding, "Can you tell us what they look like, at least?"

Tears are burning behind my eyes, and my throat is aching profusely. What is wrong with me, and what is going on? I swallow. Why can't I remember my parents? Why did I have such a hard time remembering my full name? And an accident... I was in an accident- an accident I don't remember. Do I have brain-damage? Who are these people? Why am I supposed to know these two that are _calling_ themselves my parents? I'm sure I've never seen them in my whole life. I shake my head slowly, unable to admit my inablity to recall my real parents out loud. A tear slips out of my eye, but I wipe it away quickly.

"Blair, can you tell me what school you attend?"

It's so simple- such an easy question- but, I don't know.

I shake my head again, staring blankly at the door.

Dr. Ryce continues, "What about your friends? or where you live?"

"I don't know!" I shout, my voice clotting. "Okay?!"

The woman and Harold are hugging each other, and I'm sure the woman's crying.

The old man smiles sympathetically, kindly, and I almost want to hug him, to have someone big and soft and gray hold me while I cry. Gently, he asks, "Blair, what is the last thing you remember- before waking up?"

I try really hard, to reach back as far as my conscious will allow, but nothing shows. My brain is a mass of darkness and smog, and I can't navigate my way through it. I shake my head numbly, the tears coming quickly, slipping from my eyes without permission. A dull headache begins to pound behind my brow, and I look up, toward the headboard above my bed, trying to distract myself, trying to forget, even though it seems I've already forgotten everything else. The strain of my eyes hurts my head even more, and I let my lids lower, my lip trembling.

"Do you remember anything, Blair?" the soft, worn voice asks.

"No," I whisper, the word barely audible.

There's silence, and the woman's ragging sobs fills the room. _Leave,_ I almost want to say, _You're making everything worse.  
_  
Dr. Ryce speaks softly, sweetly, "Blair, sweetheart, I don't want to alarm you, but it seems that you have a very severe case of post-traumatic amnesia- brought on by the car accident you were in."

I open my eyes, looking at him, staring, waiting.

"It's so severe- because it seems that you can't recall anything that happened before the accident," he tries to smile kindly. "Your short-term memory is working fine. So, I'm confident that no additional damage has been inflicted-"

"EXCEPT I CAN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING!" I shout, my cheeks covered in trails of tears.

Silence follows. The trainees can't look at me, and even Dr. Ryce is looking away uncomfortably.

Finally, he says, "There's no way of knowing whether this is permanent or not, but I'm confident-"

"P-Permanent?!" I sputter, my mind reeling. "You think I could forget my whole life- _forever_?"

"Well," Dr. Ryce begins, sounding very rational. "You remember your full name and your birthday- It could only take a few days for your full memory to be recovered."

I narrow my eyes at him, anger flaring up under my skin, "And what's the longest this could last?"

Dr. Ryce swallows, "It could take years, or it could be permanent."

When he says this I turn away from them all, closing my eyes and burying my face into the stiff, hospital pillow. I don't care if they want to ask me more questions or tell me more theories, I'm done talking to all of them. I want my 'parents' to go away, I want the doctors to leave, I want the trainees and the nurse to disappear too. All I want is to lay here and cry. And, when I open my eyes, all I want to see is this empy hospital room. I've only been awake for a couple hours, but the stoic walls and generic tables and chairs are familiar to me- I remember these things. I don't want to think about memories or forgetting- it's too painful and scary. I'm so anxious about it all that I'm feeling nauseous and jittery. Maybe this is all just a bad dream.

"Blair, we'll need to do more tests before we're certain- You could wake up, and it would all be back to normal," Dr. Ryce says, hoping to appease me.

I'm not a fucking moron- I know when someone's lying to me.

And the thing is, right now, I don't know what normal is for me- for Blair- because I'm not entirely sure of myself anymore.

With my back to them all, my voice shaking and thick with tears, I say, "Just go away- All of you."

Dr. Ryce whispers, "We'd better let her sleep- it's a shock and she needs her time to think," the voice gets farther away as I hear feet shuffling, and then the door opening. "Mr. and Mrs. Waldorf, you might want to go home until-"

"I'm not leaving," Harold- my father- says with finality.

The woman agrees, "We're staying here."

"That's fine, but you'll have to stay in the waiting room," Dr. Ryce says. "I don't want her to become overwhelmed with all these new things right now. And she really does need some time alone to think and rest."

There's more shuffling, and finally, the door closes. I turn my head and look around. It's empty. I sigh, allowing myself to collapse into my nervous anxiety and fear. The tears flow, hot and fast, down my cheeks. I sob without inhibition, too scared and confused to hold it all in. I don't want to feel this unfamiliar with my life. These people are telling me they're my parents- that I'm there daughter- but, I don't know them. I know I have parents, and friends- but, I can't call them to memory- I don't remember what they look like or what their names are. This feeling... I can't deal with it. I want to wake up and have my memory back, to be able to look at those people and say, 'Oh yes! Mom and Dad, I'm okay!' but they don't deserve those names, do they? Who are they really? And who am I then? Is this really my personality, or do I like comic books and ugly clothes? God, I don't know! Maybe I'm dreaming, and I'll wake up in my own bed- whatever it looks like, whereever it is- and I'll laugh at all of this.  
_  
It could be permanent._

My body is racked with sobs and I'm shaking violently, but somehow, I manage to drift into oblivion, unaware of problems or forgetting. I succumb to sleep, because it's the only thing that I can be familiar with right now.

**Author's Note:** If the medical procedures were all off, and the doctor handled the situation in a way that was totally wrong, then, I'm sorry. Only in my wildest daydreams could I imagine myself as a doctor, and there's only so much the internet can supply you with. Hope you liked the chapter! Reviewing is always appreciated!


	3. Foundations

**Chapter Two**  
_New York, New York  
Monday, January 23  
11:20:12 A.M. EST_

When I wake up the following morning, I'm wide awake, but I'm still feeling disoriented and confused. I stare at the far wall, at the door with its narrow, rectangular window. Nurses and doctors walk past, but no one walks in. People- patients, doctors, visitors, trainees- walk in front of the window, oblivious to my problems. Some of them are laughing, joking around. I want to scream at them, demand to know how they can be so happy and carefree when _my_ life is in shambles, when nothing is making sense for _me_. No one pays me any attention, and when someone even glances into the room, they don't look as if they feel bad for me, they look indifferent. I want to scream, or start crying again, but my body is too tired of that, and my eyes are dry from all the crying I did last night.

I lay in my hospital bed, thinking of the two people from last night claiming to be my parents. With a sickening disappointment falling onto my chest, I realize that I still don't recognize them, that they're still not my parents. A sigh wants to escape my lips, but I keep it inside. I still don't remember.

After staring at the far wall for some time, I become aware that a girl is talking behind me. She's not talking to me, and her conversation is one-sided, so I'm guessing she's on a phone. For a moment, I listen, wondering if I'll recognize her, wondering if something will fit into place. But her voice doesn't sound familiar, and her words hardly make any sense to me, so I feel even more defeated. Then, I'm sure she's talking about me, so, I listen.

"No, you don't have to come over- I appreciate it though," she says, pausing, listening to whoever's on the other line. "No one else has visited since she woke up- I wasn't even sure they were going to let me in."

Briefly, as I listen, I wonder what this girl looks like, and I wonder what her name is.

She sighs, "I don't know if Nate and Chuck are going to be coming- They're not speaking right now because of the whole GossipGirl revealing," she takes a shaky breath. "They were angry at her besides- I don't know- and I think they feel all guilty and weird..." she listens. "That's really sweet, but she wouldn't remember you anyway, so you don't have to."

Who are Chuck and Nate? And what GossipGirl revealing? Were these people angry at me? What the hell did I do? I want to groan. I want this to make sense.

"She's asleep right now, and lunch is going to be over in a half-hour or so, so I don't think I'll be much longer," she pauses again. "Okay, thanks, I'll see you later... Bye."

After a moment or two, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I turn around, looking at the girl. She's sitting down in a chair, underneath the one window in my room, but I can tell she's tall and lean. Her golden-blonde hair is in an artfully messy ponytail, and the hint of make-up she has on highlights her good looks. She's dressed in a half-uniform, because it's infiltrated with designer pieces that were artfully chosen to make the uniform look less drab. She's exceedingly beautiful, and I'm deeply jealous of her, although I try to suppress the feeling. When she sees me looking at her, her face shows her surprise, but she tries to smile. Clutching her phone in her hands, she stands up, taking a step toward me.

She says, "I-I didn't know you were awake- They said I could sit in here for a little while," she tells me awkwardly. "I brought flowers," she gestures toward a glass vase on a side table, filled with white and yellow roses, she tries to smile again, but it's so stiff that she lets it fall. "How are you feeling?"

I look at her incredulously, "Fine."

"That's good," she says, but her manner is stilted.

She's just as uncomfortable as I am.

Silence descends around us, thick and strange. It's hard to look at each other when we're not speaking, so we glance away, and then back awkwardly. Who is this girl? and how am I supposed to know her? I feel like it's rude for me to ask her who she is, if I know her, but what else am I supposed do to? And how can anyone expect me to be nice when I'm going through this ridiculous shit anyway?

With her shoulders sagging, she says, "So you don't remember me at all?"

"No."

Her eyes show so much hurt and disappointment that I almost want to lie to her, although I doubt that would be beneficial. She tries to smile though, moving forward slightly. I can tell she's trying really hard to be friendly and amiable, with someone she probably shouldn't have to put on airs for. But she looks as if she'd rather act this way, then stare at me silently, uncomfortably, so I try to smile back, although it probably comes off as if I'm in pain- it's so devoid of truth or naturality.

She doesn't come right up to my bed, but moves forward still, saying, "Well, I'm Serena van der Woodsen."

_Serena._

Serena?

No.

Means nothing to me.

I nod, and a slight glimmer of hope flashes behind her eyes. I squash it by asking, "And who are you to me?"

"I'm your best friend."

Figures.

She goes on, her voice quiet, "We've been best friends since we were little."

"Listen," I say almost bitterly. "I'm sorry I don't remember you, but it's not like I want this to be happening," I roll my eyes slightly.

God, these people keep acting so offended and hurt- my parents and Serena- because I don't remember them, because I'm supposed to. It's not my fucking fault I was in some kind of accident. It's not as if I was like 'HEY! SOMEONE GIVE ME AMNESIA SO I CAN PISS EVERYONE I SUPPOSEDLY KNOW OFF!' No. And I'm sick of seeing everyone's face fall, and see how heavy everyone's eyes get and how their shoulders slump when I can't recall their names or our relationships. _I_ have to deal with this fog in my brain- with the inability to understand who everyone I know is, who I am. They don't have to feel so completely lost that it hurts, so they should stop being so goddamn selfish when _I'M_ the one with the fucking problem! I want to scream and rip my hair out.

Serena smiles, and I can see that this smile is genuine.

I'm so pissed off that I snap, "What?"

"You just sound so much like yourself," she tells me, stepping all the way up to my bed. "It's hard to think that the Blair I know- who has her memory- isn't somewhere in there."

I snort, "I'm sure she's somewhere in here, I just can't seem to find her."

"Well," Serena says, her smile is sad, but encouraging. "Keep trying."

I like her. I really do. For all the jealousy I feel towards her easy beauty and charm, she's sweet and she seems to truly care about me, and it's easy to talk to her. I kind of want to hang out with her. No wonder we were best friends. How did I stand being friends with someone so perfect though? I feel like it would really drive me crazy. But maybe the Blair I was, before the accident, didn't care about those things. Oh God, who knows?

The door opens, and in walks a tall, soft-looking man with curly brown hair and an upturned nose. He comes over with a tray, smiling with twinkling eyes.

"How are we doing today?"

I sigh, "Great," I tell him sarcastically.

"Ready for lunch?" he asks, sidestepping my acidic tone.

He puts the tray down on a portable table attached to my bed, and moves it over my lap. Lifting the lid, he reveals the most unappetizing meal I've ever seen (though I wouldn't remember anyway). It's made up of lumpy mashed-potatoes, rubbery meat covered in gravy, dry green beens, a roll, a cup of cherry jello, a carton of milk, and a tiny bottle of juice. I look up at him, my eyes seeming to suggest that he has to be fucking kidding me. Do they expect me to eat this shit? Though my stomach is rumbling furiously and I'm almost feeling nauseous with hunger, I will not eat this crap. It just won't happen.

He smirks, as if understanding my glare, but he innocently asks, "What's the matter?"

"This is disgusting," I inform him.

"It's not that bad- You haven't even tried it."

I give him a dubious look, "Do you want me to die?"

He almost laughs, and I can see Serena is clearly amused beside me.

"You're not going to die from eating it-"

"If I have to swallow it I will."

I'm sure I just saw the rubbery meat move.

The nurse shrugs, and he says, "You don't have to eat it- But you'll want to eat something, sometime." He turns, leaving the tray on the table.

When he's out of the room I push the table, so it swings away from me, pulling the food out from under my nose, and my line of vision. I fold my arms over my chest, kind of pissed off. I'm hungry- really hungry- but I'm not eating that. Come on. Really.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I ask of Serena.

She is positively beaming.

I wonder if she's possibly insane, asking, "_Why_ are you smiling?"

Without warning, she laughs and engulfs me in a hug, "You haven't changed at all- You're so _Blair_!"

As she squeezes me tightly, and I pat her back awkwardly, sarcastically, I say, "Glad to hear it."

* * *

The rest of my day is filled with tests. Doctors poke me and prod me. They take blood, peer into my eyes, scan my brain, ask me questions, and, ultimately, annoy me. By the time I've finished my MRI and CT-scans, I'm sick of it. I don't want to deal with anymore of this shit. Can't I just go to my room and watch crappy reality TV? And, mercifully, they do let me return to my room. Within moments of situating myself back into my bed though, Eleanor and Harold- I mean, Mom and Dad- are knocking on the door and timidly entering.

"How are you feeling?" Eleanor asks.

Spectacular.

"Fine."

Harold tries to smile, "Can we get you anything?"

If you could, would you mind getting me my memory? Thanks.

"No, thanks."

They nod silently, looking almost disappointed. Then, Eleanor seems to remember something, "Oh- Your friends are here."

"Serena's back?" I ask.

Harold nods, "And Chuck and Nate are with her."

I stare at them blankly.

"We'll send them in," they both leave the room, and I'm grateful. I don't need them hovering when it's going to be hard enough as it is meeting my _friends_.

After a minute or two, there's a knock at the door, and I see Serena's blonde head in the little window. She smiles at me, waving. I beckon her inside, genuinely pleased to see her. She only stayed fifteen or twenty minutes more this morning, before returning to school, but it was a good couple of minutes. Her personality is so bubbly and contagious, I couldn't help laughing and joking with her as she told me stories about things we've done and trouble we've caused. When she had left, she told me she would fill me in on more (unpleasant or otherwise) when I was back home. Even though I feel like what she told me is semi-foreign, I'm glad she's not weird about recalling all the memories she can for my benefit. And when I see her smile through the window in my door, it's familiar enough that it doesn't make me feel even more anxious, and I actually smile in return.

She steps into the room, with two good-looking, well-dressed boys in her wake. They stand a good distance from one another, as if they're aware that the other one is an enemy in a physically civil war. They don't meet my eyes either, and they manage to look embarrassed and angry at the same time.

"Hey B!" Serena says cheerfully, walking forward and stopping at the foot of my bed. "I brought you some faces to all the stories I told you."

The two boys look at me, but not anywhere near my face.

Rolling her eyes a little, Serena tells me, "You'll have to excuse them- They're not speaking."

"Oh," I say, wondering why.

"Anyway," she continues. "This is Nate."

Nate has golden brown hair, and sparkling green eyes. He's impossibly delicious- in a Prince Charming kind of way- with regal features and expensive clothes. From what Serena told me today, I know that Nate and I dated, but we've broken up or aren't speaking or something. I asked her why, but she wouldn't elaborate- not until I'm out of the hospital.

For the first time, he meets my eyes, looking almost sheepish and apologetic. I give him an awkward smile, because I don't know what else to do, and he looks away, as if I've hurt him.

"And this is Chuck," she introduces the boy who's strolling around the room, looking at my flowers, at the monitors around, out the window. He's got dark, artfully tousled hair, and a cocky smirk on his face. His confidence is both irritating and attractive, and I don't know whether I should despise him or lust after him.

After he's introduced, he stops swaggering, standing at the foot of my bed, smirking, "She knows who I am."

He says it in a way that makes me roll my eyes. He thinks he's so important that I would remember him- above everyone else- or something?

"Actually," I say scathingly. "I don't."

His smirk drops, and he looks annoyed. Glancing at Serena, and then at Nate- who still looks upset and sorry- he frowns, as if realizing this isn't all for shits and giggles.

From what Serena told me today, I know I had a fling with Chuck, but that ended on sour terms. Again, she wouldn't explain anything further, so I don't know how to react or talk to these people.

"How are you feeling?" Nate asks me, his voice sounding gravely and thick.

I shrug, "My head only hurts every once in a while," I tell them. "They did a bunch of tests today and, so far, they said everything's looking good."

"Except you can't remember anything," Chuck mutters under his breath.

Serena shoots him a dirty look, then turns to me and says, "Did they say when you'll be able to go home?"

I shake my head, "No- They said they have to get the rest of the test results, and then they'd let me know. Soon, I hope," I say bitterly. "This place smells like fucking disinfectant and I need to get out of this ridiculous gown."

Looking up, I see that all three of them are amused by my comment.

"What?" I ask.

"You don't _sound_ like you have amnesia," Nate says.

I think about this, did I say something else that was so completely _Blair_? Oh good.

"What do I look like though?" I ask suddenly. "They won't let me look at a mirror."

They don't say anything.

"_Hello_?" I prompt, impatient and worried.

Serena glances at Nate and Chuck, who have both looked away, and then says, "Well, B, you were in a pretty bad accident-"

"What the fuck do I look like?" I demand loudly.

As if contemplating for a moment, she pauses, and then reaches into her bag and pulls out a compact. Walking around the bed, she stands by my side and hands it to me. My hands are shaking as I flip it open and hold it in front of my face. I gasp a little. It's obvious that I've been in some kind of accident.

I have a scabbing cut hooked out from my bottom lip, and another one along the apple of my right cheek. An angry-looking purplish bruise has blossomed on the left side of my forehead, and another one is fading to yellow on my jawline. Smaller scrapes and marks are scattered along my face, but I'm not completely unrecognizable. I know this is my face- I expected this face, just without all the injuries. It's okay, I'll heal. None of it's too bad, but I _do_ look like I've been in an accident.

Closing the compact slowly, I hand it back to Serena, whispering, "Thanks."

I know myself. This fact throws me off a little. I knew what I would look like. I knew my name. How can I know _me_- but not know anything else about my life?

The room is silent for a long minute, and I'm sure none of the three are even breathing. I don't look at them. Instead, I choose to look at the chipped French manicure that adorns my nails, hiding my fingers within the folds of my palms as I wring my hands in my lap. The tense and awkward silence fills the room, smothering everything here. It can't make it much easier that, apparently, I'm on bad terms with these two boys. I just wish there was something to lessen this tension- something to alleviate the weight of this situation.

There's another knock at the door.

The three turn and I look up, as someone walks into the room, holding a bouquet of purple hydrangeas and tall, green leaves.

Without thinking about it, I scoff, saying, "Who invited Cabbage Patch?"

Four eyes turn to me. A feeling of shock overtakes the room, and I'm confused. Why do they all look so astonished? No one says anything, no one even blinks, inhales, exhales, anything. The atmosphere has died with the shock of me calling him Cabbage Patch. But, that's not new. I've always called him Cabbage Patch. I wasn't even completely serious. It was nice of him to come and bring flowers but- why is he here? How do I even know him again?

"I-I thought you said she had amnesia," Dan whispers to Serena.

Without looking at him- still staring at me, shocked, but not smiling- she replies, "She does."

And then I realize why they're all so shocked and strange.

I have amnesia. I don't remember anything. I can't recall my friends, or my parents, my address, my school- anything about my life! But I remembered that I call him Cabbage Patch- though I'm not sure why- and that we kind of hate each other.

I can't remember anything, but I can remember Dan Humphrey.

**Author's Note:** I hope the chapter wasn't too short! Sorry it took so long to update! Thanks for reading! And also for reviewing!


	4. The General Specific

**Chapter Three**  
_New York, New York  
Monday, January 23  
4:32:45 P.M. EST_

"I've never seen anything quite like it," Dr. Ryce says for the millionth time, staring at me in wonder.

I don't look at anyone in the room. Instead, I stare at the space of wall between the door and the ceiling. It's covered in a bland, white and blue striped wallpaper. Why the fuck would they put striped wallpaper in a hospital room? As if I don't feel like I'm in prison enough as it is- God! I just want to get out of this room, out of this hospital. Even if it _is_ snowing outside, all I want to do is walk down the sidewalk I can see from my window, and end this claustrophobic feeling that is tightening the ties around my neck. Clearing my throat and pulling at the neck of my hospital gown in an irritated way, I manage to look at the scene in front of me again without wincing.

Eleanor and Harold- "Mummy and Daddy!"- are standing together beside my bed, looking tense and anxious with excitement. Dr. Ryce is sitting on a stool on the other side of my bed, staring at me like I'm the missing link. And Dan Humphrey sits awkwardly in a chair against the wall, looking as if he would like to be just about anywhere else.

After calling Dan Cabbage Patch, all three of my 'friends' had wheeled on me and demanded if I remembered anything else. I tried to conjure us some kind of memory for them- for myself- but I honestly couldn't. _No,_ I said. _I can't remember anything else_. And they all deflated.

"But you remember Dan?" Serena had asked.

I looked at him. I _knew_ him.

How?

Curling my lip at him slightly, realizing he had probably taken the _subway_ to get to the hospital, I said, "Yeah, I remember him."

"How?" she asked.

That seems to be the question of the fucking day.

In response, I had said, "I don't know! But why the hell are you even here?" I looked at Dan now. "We're not exactly _friends_."

"He's my boyfriend," Serena said, in that same voice she had used all day- reminding me of the tiny aspects of my life. "He came because you're my best friend."

This boggled my mind. Serena and Dan, dating? How is it that I could remember Dan, my best friend's boyfriend, but not my best friend? That's how I know him, and I couldn't remember that.

Chuck stepped in then, "Wait- She remembers Humphrey, but none of us?"

Thank you, Lord Repetitive.

"How?" Nate wondered, looking utterly baffled and a little hurt.

"Come on Blair," Chuck said, smiling. "You don't really have amnesia- You're just screwing with us."

I gave him the coldest glare I could muster, feeling the ice seeping from my anger. In response, I spat, "I was in a fucking car accident, you ass hole. I'm not doing this for fun!" I scoffed at him. "And even if I were, I would have picked someone better to remember than Humphrey."

"What the hell is going on?" Dan managed to say, speaking for the second time since arriving.

That was when Serena left the room and found Eleanor and Harold, bringing them back into my room to tell them what had happened. Instead of being confused and baffled, they were fucking ecstatic. Eleanor nearly started crying. _She remembers something!_ Harold said, hugging my mother. Serena reminded them that I couldn't remember anything else, but that didn't matter to them. They hurried to get Dr. Ryce, and after it had been explained again, he sat before me, staring and making 'Hmmmmm' noises. He's also said that he's never seen anything like this before- multiple times.

Since then, neither Humphrey nor I have been able to say anything. Dan looks more like he doesn't want to say anything- like he doesn't want to exist at all. I just don't know what to say, and no one's asked me to speak. I prefer to keep my mouth shut though, because- I mean, what the hell can I say right now? I remember this guy who I know I hate- someone I'm not even remotely friends with.

And that's the other thing. People keep saying, "She's remembered something!" but I don't think that's the case. Yes, I know him. But, I think the thing is- They make it sound like I forgot and _then_ remembered him. It feels more like I just hadn't forgotten him at all.

Currently, Eleanor asks, "What does this mean, Dr. Ryce?" in a hushed, religious kind of voice.

"Is she getting her memory back?" Harold puts in, his eyes shining hopefully.

"Well, I can't say that just yet," Dr. Ryce replies. "Blair, might I pry into your personal life just a little?"

I snort, "You can try."

"And Mr. Humphrey, you as well?" he turns and asks Dan.

Dan looks surprised that someone's speaking to him, "Yeah- Sure," he says, sitting up a little.

Dr. Ryce thinks for a moment, and then he says, "Explain your relationship to me. Blair, you first."

"My relationship with Dan?" I ask.

The doctor nods, saying, "Solely from what you remember."

I filter out anything someone might have mentioned since we realized I only remembered Dan, and I say, "I know that I've never liked him, and he's never liked me. I know that he's from Brooklyn and that he uses the subway," I raise my eyebrow at Dan, and he sort of looks like he should have expected this from me.

"Can you recall how you met him?"

I dig deep into my brain, even squinting in the process. And there it is, bright and clear. The memory of how I met him. I'm shaking Dan's hand. He's wearing a brown jacket and I'm wearing a white dress. We're in- I can't see where we are. I've got revenge on my mind, and I think that it's a shame such good looks were wasted on someone from Brooklyn. And then people approach us, but I can't make out their faces- can't figure out who they are or what they mean. I say something to Dan. _She was waiting in a hotel room- for my boyfriend_. Someone says something else. I'm pissed off- irritated. _That doesn't sound any smarter the second time_. Dan says something. **Why weren't you talking?** There's more talking. I'm really angry. These people are saying things that are pissing me off, but I don't even know what it is. All I can hear or see is Dan. _Did you want to tell him?_ But- tell who, what? I feel like I'm on the outside of a dream and I'm only getting half of the story. _I just thought you should know- before you fall head over heals for your perfect girl, in her perfect world, then get left alone with nothing but your Cabbage Patch kid.  
_  
Feeling as if I'm being watched, I look up and see four sets of eyes on me for the second time today.

"Do you remember, Blair?" Dr. Ryce asks.

I swallow, "Yes."

"What can you recall from that memory? Other people, the place?" he prompts.

Everyone holds their breath, and then I say, "No." Looking down I manage to tell them, "All I remember is Dan and me," with a small shred of my dignity left.

Dr. Ryce nods, thinking for a moment before he asks, "Do you have other memories with Dan?"

There are a bunch of memories of Dan. Dan in a suit. Dan talking to me about his mother, confusing me. Why was he talking to me about his mother? And me dancing, and then Dan telling some guy to 'stay away from her!' Stay away from who? Me? And then I'm wearing a mask, and I see Dan across a crowded room, wearing a mask too. _Oh, is that Cedric?_ And then Dan and me on the steps somewhere, with a bunch of people between us. Again I can't see or hear these people. Dan asks me something. **This skull and bones stuff is a bit much, don't you think?** I stare at him and smirk. _Maybe, but it works... Every time._

"Yes," I say, not looking at anyone but the doctor.

"And in each memory, is it only you and Dan?" he asks.

I nod wordlessly.

There's silence in the room. Then, Dr. Ryce shifts in his chair and turns to Dan, "And Mr. Humphrey, what can you tell me of your relationship with Blair?"

"Uh- She's my girlfriend's best friend. She's usually standoffish with me because I'm from Brooklyn. I don't know- We just _know_ each other," he shakes his head. "The only relationship we have is passing insulting comments back and forth when we happen to see each other."

There's more silence, and I feel like clawing out my eyes.

Finally, Eleanor whispers, "What does this mean?"

Dr. Ryce turns to me again, "Blair, did you remember Dan when you woke up yesterday?"

"I didn't think about him when I woke up," I tell him honestly. "It's just that I hadn't thought about him, so I didn't realize I hadn't forgotten him until I saw him."

"You think you never forgot him?" Dr. Ryce asks me right back.

Jesus Christ, I feel like I'm being drilled by an interrogator.

I shrug, saying, "That's how it feels."

Dr. Ryce nods to himself, "That's interesting- That's very interesting," he looks at me again. "Do you feel as if you can recall other things?"

"How should I know what I haven't forgotten if I don't usually think about it?" I retort.

But the truth is, I don't think I remember anything else about my life, except Dan. And why? What the hell makes Dan so special? I can't remember my best friend, my parents, my ex boyfriend, my ex fling. But I can remember Dan Humphrey? Is this some kind of sick joke?

Dr. Ryce sighs, saying, "Well, I have some good news for you." We all watch him expectantly. "It's clear now that Blair's memory isn't completely damaged, so there's more of a chance for a full recovery."

Whoop dee fucking doo.

"But I can't say is when that recovery could happen- or if she'll end up remembering only Mr. Humphrey from before the accident," he says, looking apologetic.

WHAT?! Is he fucking serious? I could go through my whole life, only remembering Dan from before this accident? How is this even possible?!

"For now, we'll have to do a few more tests, and then we'll work out the rest," Dr. Ryce says, standing up to leave.

"When will she be able to go home?" Eleanor asks, on the verge of tears again.

Glancing at me, Dr. Ryce says, "Her tests so far are all fine- So, if the rest of the tests go well, I'd say she'd be okay to go home in a day or two- with a few precautions and requirements." He glances at Dan, still sitting in the chair in the corner, saying, "Mr. Humphrey, would it be possible if you could come back tomorrow?"

"Why does he have to come back tomorrow?" I snap, extremely on-edge.

Dr. Ryce looks at me again, "Well, I'd like to do some tests with you concerning Mr. Humphrey- just to see if anything has changed, or if this factor affects anything."

Holy shit, what the hell is going on?

"I can come back," Dan says, as if he has no choice.

"Good," Dr. Ryce says, extremely pleased. He heads for the door.

Dan speaks before the doctor can leave, asking, "Sir? Do you know why Blair remembers only _me_?"

Dr. Ryce looks over at me, and then back at Dan, "The mind works in mysterious ways, son."

Awesome. Could you maybe give us a fucking answer that's more redundant than that one!

"We'll talk more in my office," he says to Dan, and they leave the room.

Eleanor and Harold are beaming down at me now, thrilled that I can actually remember something- that there's some kind of hope for my memory.

I, on the other hand, think I just might be going completely, totally, utterly, fucking losing my mind.

* * *

After Eleanor and Harold have gone home- when visiting hours are over- I sit in my room and think too much. I wonder, over and over again, why I've remembered Dan and not anyone else. For an hour or so, I worry over the fact that I could live the rest of my life with only Dan Humphrey as a familiar face from before the accident. What sort of life would that be? I don't even _like_ him! I just want to know why this happened, and figure out why I couldn't remember one of my parents or my best friend! Why Cabbage Patch from Brooklyn?

Finally, I get so antsy and irritable that I ask one of the nurses if I can just walk around this floor of the hospital. At first she gives me some bullshit about how she's not sure, but then says it should be all right if I'm only walking.

So, because the clothes I was wearing when I got here were ripped and dirtied in the car accident, I walk up and down the hallways of the floor in my hospital gown, trying to ease the anxiety that's ripping through my mind.

I pass a snack machine, an aquarium, a nurse and an old man arguing in his room, a doctor eyeing up one of the nurses from where he's speaking on a phone, all the happenings of this floor, several times. Nothing seems to ease the tension building up in my stomach. Nothing can distract me from thinking about this- about worrying over why I can only remember Dan. And then memories I have of him flood my mind without stopping. It's so intoxicating, because it's familiar, and I don't feel so confused about my life- but it's frustrating and disconcerting too. It's like I only have a fraction of the pieces to a puzzle, and the rest are being withheld from me. What the hell can I do?

Turning down an end hallway for the second time, I walk, staring at the tiling in the floor, until I plow into someone.

"Watch it!" I look up and freeze.

Dan is standing there, staring at me.

Finally, he manages to say, "Sorry."

"What are you still doing here?" I snap, feeling self-conscious and nervous in only a hospital gown.

He gestures toward a door across the hall from us, "I just finished talking with Dr. Ryce."

"Still?" I ask.

It has to have been at least an hour since he left my room with the doctor.

He nods, looking uncomfortable to be speaking to me, "Yeah- We talked a little more about the situation- our relationship- that kind of thing-"

"What, did you tell him I was a raging bitch?" I smirk at him, cocking an eyebrow upward.

He tries to smile in return, but doesn't, as he says, "Those weren't my exact words but, I told him more about how we interacted and how I felt about you before the accident."

"Did you happen to mention Cedric too?" I ask.

He smirks at that, "No I didn't." Looking at me, as if he can't figure me out at all, he asks, "Don't you find it strange that you remember me, and no one else?"

"No, I was expecting it when I crashed head-on with another car," I say, watching as surprise pulls up his eyebrows. "Of course I think it's weird, you idiot."

He nods, and then looks down, "Yeah- Well, I'm sorry about this, Blair-"

"What the fuck are you apologizing for?" I snap acidly. "It's not like you made me remember you- Though I appreciate your attempt at martyrdom," I give him a victorious smile.

"Whatever- Even if it isn't my fault- I'm sorry," he gives me a stalling look. I don't say anything in response, because I don't really know what to say, and he continues after a moment, "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow- for the rest of those tests," and he walks around me and leaves.

I watch him walking away, and for the hundredth time today, concerning this situation, the inquisitory word is thrown out there.

_How?_  
**  
Author's Note:** So, who cares if the first day of school is tomorrow? I stayed up (though not all that late) to finish and update this chapter. Hope everyone enjoyed it! Sorry it's taken a little while to update! Also, thank you so so so so so much for the reviews, they mean a tremendous amount to me, really. And thanks for reading! Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner!

(Italicized and bolded phrases from Blair's memories were direct quotes from _Gossip Girl_.)


	5. Another Place to Fall

**Chapter Four**  
_New York, New York  
Tuesday, January 24  
4:23:47 P.M. EST_

"Okay Blair," Dr. Hilary, one of the resident psychologists at New York-Presbyterian, starts up her questioning. "Let's start with the first question."

This is probably the twentieth test they're putting me through in this hour alone. They started right away, doing all the same memory and psychological tests they did yesterday. Except, today, Dan has to sit beside me or in front of me through all of these tests. So, not only do I have to do this repetitive shit with reanswering questions I can't answer, but I have to do it with Dan Humphrey sitting there, feeling awkward. He doesn't get asked any questions- he's not asked to do anything- but he's got to sit with me the whole time. This is Dr. Ryce's idea. He thinks that maybe- since I have memories of Dan and me from before the accident- that having Cabbage Patch around might trigger some other recollections.

Really, it's all kind of ridiculous.

Dr. Hilary sits across from me in Dr. Ryce's office, clipboard on her lap, and she asks, "Who is the current president of the United States?"

"I don't know."

"Try looking at Dan and thinking about the president," she points toward Dan with her pen, and then makes a note on the papers on her lap.

She's _not_ fucking serious.

But she looks up and gives me an expectant little bulge of the eyes, so I turn and look at Dan, who is sitting beside me in his own chair. He's sitting there, looking stiff and awkward, with his hands on the armrests of his seat, his feet flat on the floor. The sleeves of his uniform button-up shirt and rolled up, and his tie is loosened. His blazer is draped across the back of his chair, and his bookbag is on the floor. When I turn to look at him, he obediently meets my eyes. Without saying anything, or even lipping the words, his eyes seem to will me to answer correctly. And, as much as I want to remember something else- other than _Dan Humphrey_- I can't.

I turn back to Dr. Hilary, "No. I still don't know who the president is- Just like I didn't know who it was yesterday," I tell her bitterly. "Having Dan here is not going to change anything."

"Well, Blair, you don't know that," she replies with a patient smile, consulting her clipboard again. "Now, can you tell me what school you attend?"

I look at Dan again- because she's going to tell me to anyway- but, even with his school uniform on, he doesn't evoke any thoughts of my own academic history. There's nothing there at all. And I try fruitlessly to grasp something about school- something within the fog of my brain. But all I can see are memories of Dan and I in various places, in different conversations, wearing school uniforms. But that's about as far as it goes concerning school.

Feeling as if I'm wilting with despair, I say, "No."

"Can you recall your address?" she asks, pen poised above her notes.

I sigh, "I know I live in New York City, on the Upper East Side- but I never forgot that. I just don't know my house or the street or the number..."

"That's right- Dr. Ryce did mention you knew the boroughs of the city, but- that's it?"

I grit my teeth, "Yes."

"Let's try something else," she says suddenly. "Blair, I want you to pick a memory that you have with Dan- anything at all that you can conjure up."

I think about it and choose the memory that won't leave my conscious mind. It's the memory of Dan and I sitting somewhere- on the floor?- talking. _Normally I wouldn't be this close to you without a tetanus shot_. He talks about his mother leaving their family to paint, and how he wanted to tell her how he really felt about the situation, but couldn't. I can recall feeling familiar with the inability to tell a parent the truth, but, now, I can't figure out where the connection is. Regardless, it's the memory I choose.

Nodding, I say, "Okay."

"Do you have one?"

"Yes," I say, as if she should already know this.

Her patience is ironclad though, and she nods serenely, "Now close your eyes."

I stare at her defiantly. I am _not_ closing my eyes and acting like a fool- especially in front of Dan Humphrey.

"Blair," Dr. Hilary gives me a warning look. "If you want to get your full memory back, you'll have to work at it."

Relenting, I close my eyes.

She sounds pleased, "Good. Now, I want you to relive that one memory you've chosen- Can you do that for me?"

"Sure," I reply noncommittally.

"Try your hardest to recall every aspect of this memory," she says gently. "What is Dan wearing?"

You have got to be kidding me.

But I reply, "A gray sweater and jeans."

"What are you wearing?"

"A green dress," I remember the dress- I like it so much that I have to remind myself that I own it already.

Dr. Hilary scratches away with her pen on the paper, asking, "What are you feeling?"

I concentrate on the memory. I'm feeling hurt and heavy. Betrayed. But I'm feeling a reluctant appreciation for Dan and his words as well. In the memory I contemplate telling him something that he is obviously relating to but- God, what was I going to tell him about? I can't grasp it.

"Betrayed and hurt," I confess reluctantly. "But I'm appreciative too."

Dr. Hilary's whispering now, "Good. Try your hardest to remember your surroundings- to recall where you are and why you're there."

If possible, I submerge myself in this memory. Allowing the here and now to slip away from me, I relish the ability to remember something. But it's near to impossible to see my surroundings or figure out where I am. All I see around us is a dull white, and it's hazy. Where would I be that's all white? I concentrate my hardest. Where were we and why were we even there? I can remember this encounter, now all I need are the details.

"All I can see is a hazy white behind us," I say, annoyed. "That's it- I don't know where I am, or why."

She asks, "Dan, do you know which memory Blair's referring to so far?"

"Uh- sort of," he says, but it doesn't sound convincing. "Was it when we were talking in the hallway, Blair?"

We're in a hallway? What the fuck was I doing with Dan Humphrey in a hallway?

"I can't see if it's a hallway," I tell them, opening my eyes.

Even with him telling me where we were sitting, I can't actually see it. The frustration and desperation show on my face, and I clench my fists. Apparently the annoyance and impatience show on my face and in my voice, because Dr. Hilary puts down her pen and her clipboard on the desk and stands up. Wariness floods my body- is she going to take us to another test?

"I think that's enough for today," she says though, and I nearly sigh in relief. "Why don't you two go back to Blair's room, and I'll send Dr. Ryce down to talk with you as soon as I meet with him and give him my notes."

We nod, and once Dan has grabbed his bookbag, we stand, waiting to be completely dismissed.

"Thank you, Mr. Humphrey," she says, shaking his hand. "Your presence in itself was helpful," she smiles at him. "And Blair, thank you for answering the questions again."

I force a charming smile for her, "No problem- Can we go now?"

"Yes, of course. Dr. Ryce will be down to your room shortly," she says, opening the door for us.

We trudge down the hall silently, with people moving around us, talking, going about their lives, while we're awkwardly silent. My room is empty and still when we make our way inside. Dan stands, tense, in the middle of the room, as I make my to my bed and sit down in the jeans and designer shirt Eleanor brought me this morning. I tell Dan he can sit down if he wants, and he manages to sit down in the seat available against the wall- albeit, stiffly. Regardless, I'm a little less tense with him sitting down, though the awkwardness of our private silence is still weird, and we both know it.

Mercifully, someone knocks on the door, and I look up to see Serena walking into the room. She's smiling brightly- looking giddy- which is a contrast to the almost stunned anger that was curdling her voice yesterday before she left.

"Hey!" she's balancing a tray of Starbucks coffee and a white, paper bag in her right hand and she's bubbly again. "How did the tests go?"

Dan's visibly relaxed in his chair and she smiles at him, but looks back at me for an answer, so I tell her, "The same."

I could be mistaken, but it seems like a flicker of relief shoots across her eyes. She frowns though, and walks over to the tray beside my bed, saying, "That sucks."

I shrug as she puts the coffee on the tray, and then the bag as well.

"What's this?" I ask, a trill of excitement shooting through me.

Serena's smile expands- if possible- and she hands me one of the coffee cups, "Your favorite."

Real food! I take a sip from the warm cup, nearly sighing in contentment as the sweet chai tea slides down my throat. It's heavenly. I've been living off of water and pieces of bread for the past two days. This is absolutely amazing.

"I knew you'd appreciate it," Serena laughs, brandishing plastic containers from the white bag. "And since you detest the hospital food- here is a grilled chicken salad, some sushi, grilled cheese, and some chocolate cupcakes."

My mouth is watering.

"You don't have to eat it all- I just brought a bunch of choices," she lays it all out before me with a flourish. "Dorota made the cupcakes though, so you'll have to have one of those or she'll get mad at me for making her whip them up so quickly."

I swallow a gulp of my tea and knot my eyebrows, "Dorota?"

"Oh- Your housekeeper," she says with a hidden frown.

Nodding, I survey the arrangement of meals in front of me, "Can I eat a little bit of everything? I'm starving."

She laughs, happy again, "Of course! Eat whatever you want!"

I open all of the containers and, using the knife and fork Serena offers, pick at everything with rushed movements. My stomach is empty and growling, begging for this food to fill it up. Sure, the grilled cheese is kind of greasy and I'm sure it's going straight to my ass, but I don't care right now.

As I delight in my spread, Serena moves over to Dan and puts her hand on his shoulder, leaning over him. He puts his arms around her waist and smiles at her. They talk softly about his day, her day, school, me, the tests, a whole array of things. I feel as if I'm intruding on their conversation, honestly- but, um, hey! this is my room! Shaking my head more than once during their conversation, I have to remind myself that they're actually dating. That Cabbage Patch, and this stranger who is supposedly my best friend, are dating- as in, they're together. It's weird. My brain doesn't know Serena, but even if it did, this would be too much for me, it just doesn't feel right- and I'm looking at it from the outside.

Someone else knocks on the door, and in walks Dr. Ryce. He smiles at me, Serena, and Dan, and then tells me, "Blair, I'll be back to talk with you in a few minutes, but- Dan, might I borrow you for a moment?"

Dan gets up and says, "Sure," giving Serena's hand a squeeze before leaving the room.

Urgh. Enough to make me vomit.

"So," Serena says, making her way back over to me. "The tests didn't come out different because Dan was here?"

I shake my head, "No."

"And you didn't remember anything else?" she's so hopeful that I almost want to lie again.

"No, only Cabbage Pa- Dan."

She's silent for a moment, and I move some lettuce around in the plastic container, waiting for her to say something else, or to hit me.

Sitting on my bed with me, she goes, "Yeah, it's weird how you only remember Dan."

"You were dating him before I was in the accident, right?" I ask, just to make sure.

She nods.

"Well, didn't we all hang out? I mean- I know I hate him, and you could do so much better, but we all must have hung out if you're dating him and you're my best friend," I offer, as if I have to justify my remembering only him.

Serena shakes her head, laughing cynically, "No, Blair, you hated Dan. You wouldn't go near with him if you had to."

"Maybe that's why I remember him," I say. "Because I had such an aversion to him."

She shrugs, looking as if something is bothering her. Wait- is she mad or annoyed or something, because I remember her boyfriend? I want to scoff and sneer, but instead, I mull this over. It's possible. She has every right to be defensive over her boyfriend, but not with me. Hello! I hate Cabbage Patch! What, does she think I remember him because we had an affair prior to the accident- Oh God, did we? No, Dan would have said something. Urrrrrrrgh.

Getting slightly defensive, I say, "You're not mad at me because I only remember Dan, are you?"

A little too quickly, Serena says, "No-no, that's not it! It's just- I mean, it's weird for me, that's all. But you can understand that right?"

"Well, obviously it's weird!" I scoff a little. "I don't even like him! I wish I could remember a best friend or a parent or something that makes sense- but Dan? Where the hell is this coming from?" I gush, finally able to say out loud what has been running through my mind for two days.

Serena laughs a little, "I know- It doesn't make much sense but it's a good thing in the end."

"Good thing?" I stare at her, agog. "Have you had a head injury too? What's good about this?"

Still smiling, she encourages, "It shows that you can recall something- and that there's hope for you to get your memory back."

"But at the cost of only remembering subway-boy?" I cringe. "Merci, mais non."

"You can still speak French?" she asks, surprised. "You remember that?"

I think for a moment, "I didn't really think about it- but I guess I can."

Anything else I should know about myself?

* * *

Serena and Dan don't stay long, and as soon as they're gone, Harold and Eleanor come into my room, resuming their posts at my bedside. They sit on either side of me as I watch TV, and I can't help taking notice of how freaking weird this is. Two people I don't know (that's how it feels anyway), sitting on either side of me like guard-dogs, as I watch crappy reality TV and think about how I can't remember them from before a car accident. It's weird.

There's a brief knock at the door, and in walks Dr. Ryce, smiling, to make matters worse.

"Hello, there!" he says cheerfully, walking over with a folder under his arm.

I look at him without smiling. What the hell is there to be happy about?

"I've got some good news for you, Blair."

I highly doubt that.

Eleanor sits up straighter, saying, "What is it?"

"All of Blair's tests have gone well- There was no improvement on the second round, but that could change. So, Blair, you'll be able to go home tomorrow," he smiles. "And you'll be able to return to school next week if you're up to it."

My heart picks up speed, and I feel my throat close. School? Home? I don't know these places! I won't be able to handle it!

"That's wonderful!" Harold says, ecstatic.

Yeah, it's wonderful for them! I don't want to go to a home that isn't home!

"Of course, there will be some precautions you'll have to follow once you've left the hospital," he says, opening the folder. Reading from it, he tells us, "You should probably refrain from intense physical activity until you've properly recovered, and of course you'll have to return for tests and checkups frequently- and I strongly advise you start to see a psychologist as well."

Eleanor clears her throat, "Blair's already seen a psychologist for her eating habits- She was able to stop seeing Dr. Shurman though."

Eating habits? What the fuck is she talking about?

"I understand that, Mrs. Waldorf," Dr. Ryce says easily. "But it would probably be best for her to see a new psychologist- unattached to the Blair everyone knew before the accident."

My 'parents' nod and the doctor gives them a list of the precautions and requirements that we'll have to follow once I leave the hospital. But I'm not listening to him.

A noxious anxiety is ripping through me and I feel as if I'm hyperventilating. I don't want to go to Harold and Eleanor's house. Where ever they live is not going to feel like home- nothing is going to feel like home! And school? How can I possibly go back to a school I don't know, with people I won't recognize at all? I squeeze the blanket underneath me within my palm, swallowing hard, blinking furiously, and having the extreme urge to throw up. This is all happening too fast. I don't want to be thrown into a life I don't know or want! I want to remember it- and be glad that I'm going back.

Instead, I'm dreading going back to a life I don't know.

**Author's Note:** So, the next chapter will be Blair going home! How is everyone liking the second season of Gossip Girl? I've got mixed feelings, to be completely honest. Hope everyone liked the chapter! Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	6. Won't Go Home Without You

**Author's Note:** Thanks everyone for reviewing and sticking with this story! I know the updates are few and far apart, but I've been really busy with other works and school lately. But, I'm almost done with my big Dan/Blair story, and then this will be my main Dair focus for fan fiction! Yay! Anyway, really, you guys are awesome for not giving up on me or this story. Thank you so much! And for anyone who's read, 'When it Rains, it Pours' there's a trailer by **Haley** featured on my youtube account, and I suggest you all watch it 'cause it's awesome! And now, chapter five!

**Chapter Five**  
_New York, New York  
Wednesday, January 25  
1:12:59 P.M. EST  
_  
I must be stuck in a bad dream, because this feels like some kind of warped nightmare.

On one side of me, in the back of the town car, sits Harold, and on the other, Eleanor. They're talking with forced cheer- about Dorota and Constance, people I don't know or care about. I sit between them, feeling as if I'm pressed- thigh to thigh- with strangers who won't leave me be. Eleanor trills on about how Dorota's preparing my favorite meal- some kind of French dish that I don't catch the name of- and Harold comments on how nice that is. To distract myself from their idle chatter and strained voices, I look outside the window, at New York City that's passing me by.

A strange sort of feeling is bubbling inside me. I know these buildings and avenues passing me by, but it's as if only from a very foggy dream. Maybe more like deja vu. Could I tell you how to get from point A, to point B? No, but I feel as if I could show you. Everything's familiar, but in a completely foreign way, and it's freaking me out, making my anxiety triple in intensity and unpleasantness.

The car slowly pulls up to a large, massive building and my heart thuds.

"We're home," Eleanor says, forcing a smile as the doorman opens the door.

She's trying to be cheerful and welcoming, but really- I feel like I'm watching a horror film. If I was in the audience, watching this scene, I'm sure I'd be screaming, 'Don't follow them inside!'

But, I do slide out behind Eleanor, and then Harold follows me. The afternoon is cold, but bright, and the sun glints into my eyes as I look up and stare at the large stretch of building. This doesn't scream _home_ in any way, and I frown, looking down.

"Blair, honey," Eleanor says, guiding me forward with a hand on my back. "This is our doorman, Joseph."

The doorman is old and short, but cute and friendly, so I force a bitter smile for him.

He gives me an encouraging and welcoming smile in return, saying, "It's good to see you home and well, Miss Waldorf."

_Well?_ I wonder what his idea of _un_well is.

Nodding at him politely, he opens the massive glass doors for us, and we walk into the foyer. Everything is done up in calm and pretty shades of mauve and beige, and some subdued silvers. The whole area is neat and conventional, but homey- in the sense that it reminds me of a hotel I wouldn't mind staying in. At the far end of the entrance hall, is an elevator, and I follow Eleanor and Harold as they make their way to it. With slight impatience, my 'mother' pushes the button to go up, looking over and giving me a smile.

"Anything familiar?" Harold wants to know.

I shake my head, saying, "No," unable to disappoint them with _too_ many words.

Unfortunately, the doors of the elevator slide open before us and we step inside.

Within the confines of the small space, everything is tense and awkward. I know that Harold and Eleanor are disappointed that I'm not jumping up and down, crying, "I remember!" and I feel ashamed for this. But I'm also sure that they know I don't want to be here and that I feel incredibly uncomfortable- that I'm going to feel uncomfortable wherever I am right now, whoever I'm with. So, the elevator ride is awkward- the kind of awkward that makes you cringe and swallow hard because you're afraid you'll throw up. That's about how sickening it is. But, luckily, the lift is smooth and quick, and its doors are opening before I know it.

Eleanor and Harold step out of the elevator before me, and I hang back before propelling myself forward.

We step into a marble foyer, with cool, periwinkle walls. There's a wooden table set up in the center of it, laden with a vase filled with a luscious arrangement of flowers. All around me is a smell of springtime and detergent- it makes me relax before I even think about it, and I'm grateful, because I'm just way too stressed out right now. Through an entryway is a living room that is so artfully decorated and clean, that I'm almost afraid to sit on anything or step into the room, but Eleanor urges me along with her, so I follow. She says, 'Let's get you reacquainted with the house,' as we walk into the room and I try to smile. Before I realize it, she's explaining that the TV is in the cabinet, hidden from view, and that the kitchen is through the hall connected to the foyer. All I do is smile and nod, because I really can't deal with a floor plan of my supposed home right now.

"Miss Blair."

We all step back into the foyer, and walking towards us through the hall (the one that leads to the kitchen?) is a short, slightly round woman. She's got a soft, kind face, and sad, hopeful eyes as she approaches me. Dorota, our maid. I don't remember her, I just notice that she's wearing a maid's uniform and I remember that Serena mentioned that Dorota is our maid. But this woman doesn't jog my memory.

Eleanor puts a hand on my back, saying, "Blair, this is our maid Dorota."

I nod, "I know."

Everyone catches their breath.

"Serena gave me the cupcakes you made," I amend quickly. "Thanks- by the way," I say, though I'm sure my voice sounds false.

Dorota smiles, but she looks so disappointed and worried, "Of course, Miss Blair. And if you need anything you just let me know."

I don't even know this woman, but I really just want to hug her.

"Come on, Blair," Eleanor says gently, urging me forward as if I'm breakable. "We'll show you your room."

Oh God.

I obediently follow them up the stairs and down a dim hallway. At the end, we stop, and she opens the door for me, allowing me to go in first.

_My_ room is painted a pretty, sky blue. There's a silver screen of decorative, metallic material hanging behind a huge, sleigh bed, and a painted mural of a blue, olden day dress on the other wall. Catty-corner to the door, is a cork-board, with pictures and notes pinned neatly to it. I glance away from them, to the plush carpet underneath my feet. It's white and pristine. Feeling more anxious by the minute, I avert my eyes to the desk against the wall. There are books, papers, a laptop, and an untouched box for a Blackberry on it.

Eleanor seems to read my mind and she says, "That's for you. Your other cell phone got lost in the accident, so we got you a new one."

I don't say anything.

"We got as many numbers installed into it as we could," Harold says apologetically. "The rest were lost unfortunately."

I ignore them and move forward, peering at the black and white pictures hanging above my bed- vogue photos of Audrey Hepburn. I smile to myself.

"Are you remembering something?" my mother pounces.

Beratingly, Harold says, "Eleanor..."

"What?" she says defensively. "I was just asking-"

"No," I cut her off before this can turn into a full-fledged parental fight. "I like the pictures though."

Eleanor and Harold look at the pictures above my bed. "Oh," she says, smiling. "Audrey Hepburn. Your favorite."

I nod absently, not saying anything else.

There's a long beat of silence, in which I stare at the photos more, and Eleanor and Harold stand there, looking around.

Finally, Eleanor says, "Okay, well- Um- We'll leave you to rest a little- to look around your room or the house if you want. Uh- We'll be downstairs if you need anything," she nods encouragingly and I mirror her actions, only slower and more reluctant.

They leave the room, closing the door behind them, and I'm left in the quiet loneliness of a room that supposedly belongs to me.

Turning and looking around the room, my eyes slow and calculated, I try to find some piece of myself within the decor or the feel. The bed is made, complete with throw pillows, and the desk and bedside tables are clean and neat. From right here, I don't feel familiar with any part of it, and it scares me. Shouldn't I know that I put my books on the desk like that, or that I chose the wall color and photo arrangement?

I turn myself around and look at the cork-board, hoping that looking over that will seem familiar.

There's a picture of Serena and me on it, dressed in school uniforms, on the steps of the Met, posing dramatically, like models in a photoshoot, only overdone. I laugh a little at it, before moving on to a photo of Nate, Chuck, Serena, and I on some kind of terrace in the winter, bunched up together, laughing and making goofy faces. We look young, happy, and I wonder when it was taken- not recently before the accident, I know that much. From here, I look at a picture of a younger Eleanor and Harold, standing before a spring backdrop, with a little girl in an Easter dress... Me. Swallowing, I choose to look away, and instead, focus on the picture of myself in France, under the Eiffel Tower, blowing a kiss at the camera. This makes me smile, and it gives me the confidence to scan the notes on scraps of paper or post-its, pinned to the board, reminders and mementos.

_Go to A203 to ask Monsieur Janier about French club after school!_

**555-8901**

_S eats glue for fun!_ **B hearts Mr. Colin's ass!** N licks his feet when no one's looking! **_C is a secret agent man!  
_**

**_Blair Waldorf is a skank, but I 3 her!_** _- S_

Though the notes are simple reminders or cute little inside jokes, I'm frowning. They're amusing, but I don't remember them happening. None of these little jokes make sense to me, and it makes my chest ache and throb painfully. I just wish I could remember- wish I could stop disappointing everyone and get out of this hellhole of forgetting. I'm so nervous that whatever is on my desk will set off a whole slew of new anxious thoughts, that I approach it cautiously. On my desk though, is a French 4 Honors textbook, a binder filled with calculus notes, the December issue of French _Vogue_, and a tattered copy of _Beowulf_. I open my laptop, feeling as if I'm intruding on someone's property, and flick through folders and applications. I read over essays from school and college information that's been saved on here, feeling as if I'm reading someone else's writing and someone's else ideas. It gets unnerving, so I close the computer and make my way to a wardrobe. Inside this wardrobe is a TV set and DVD player. Neatly arranged inside a storage basket, is an array of DVDs. I flick through them, finding _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ in only a moment.

It takes me a few minutes to figure out how the player works, but I manage, and before I know it, the movie is starting.

I settle onto the bed, feeling strangely at ease now that the movie is beginning, though, I also feel as if I've never seen it before- like I've watched parts of it, but only from a dream.

* * *

Dinner with Eleanor and Harold is a horrid affair. We eat my favorite food, and I love it, but we talk in stilted sentences, as if we don't know each other.

Which, we kind of don't!

After we've finished eating though, Eleanor decides that they should explain a few things to me.

"Okay," I say, waiting for whatever's going to come next.

Eleanor and Harold exchange a glance, before he says, "We should probably remind you that your mother and I are divorced."

How did I not guess this?

"Oh," I say, looking at the grain of the table, confused. "Why?"

They exchange another glance, and then Eleanor says, "Your father left me... For a man."

My eyes manage to widen. How could I not remember this?

"Oh."

"You should also know that things are completely fine now," Eleanor explains. "We're all friends and everything's okay. Your father lives in France with his boyfriend, Roman, and you live in New York with me."

I look at Harold, asking, "You came here when you found about the accident?"

"Of course I did, bear," he says, smiling warmly. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I feel uncomfortable with him looking at me so fondly, because I really, truly feel like I don't know him, but I try to smile.

"We just thought we'd remind you," Eleanor says again. "Because we figured you might be confused."

I nod, "No, thank you- I wouldn't have known otherwise."

They smile at me, and it seems so forced that I want to cry.

"Also, you should know that we've contacted your school," Eleanor says, as an afterthought.

And now the anxiety is returning, bringing with it a nausea that sweeps my body so fast I almost heave right at the table. I manage to swallow past the rising bile though, and try to comprehend going to school. It's hard enough that I have to stay here and live with two people who don't even feel like my parents, but I also have to go to school and be surrounded by people who I don't know, who will be blowing fake sympathy at me as if it were cigarette smoke at a runway show? No thanks. But, what can I do? Everyone's playing the card that I won't remember anything if I don't put myself back into the life I knew.

So, I'll go and wander around a school that I'm not familiar with- going to classes with teachers I don't know.

Eleanor continues to speak, saying, "Headmistress Queller says she'll be excusing Serena to help you find all of your classes for the first week or so that you go back."

I stare at her.

"So, Dorota will wake you up tomorrow at six-"

"Tomorrow?!" I squawk.

They stare at me.

Eleanor says, "Yes, of course."

"Isn't that a little soon?" I'm nearly hyperventilating.

But she's got a response for this, "Dr. Ryce said the sooner you get back into the way everything was before the accident, the more likely you'll get your memory back."

"Yeah, but- tomorrow?"

Harold says, "Think about it this way, Blair, you probably won't have to do any work or anything."

As if that matters to me!

"So tomorrow, you'll go to school- and then I'll come and get you and take you to your appointment with Dr. Asch."

"Dr. Asch?" my mind is spinning.

Eleanor nods, "Yes, your new psychologist."

"O-Oh."

My stomach acids are swirling so violently that I have to swallow hard to keep my dinner down. But- I don't think I can keep it down much longer.

"I'm pretty tired- Can I go back to my room now?" I ask, already standing up.

Eleanor smiles, "Of course, darling."

I all but run out of the room, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. After shutting the door behind me, I race over to my bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. Something else is controlling me as I turn on the faucet, and crank on the water in the shower, because I'm not consciously telling myself to do these things. Before I know it, I'm leaning in front of the toilet, heaving and choking. I just want this feeling to go away. Why is this anxiety always so sickening? To just be rid of the crappy feeling, I shove my finger down my throat- as far back as I can go- and I feel my stomach heave violently, and up comes all of my dinner.

Afterwords, when I'm washing my face with cool water in the sink, feeling light-years better, I wonder- does this happen often?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry there was zero Dair interaction in this chapter, but it was necessary!


	7. This River Is Wild

**Author's Note:** Holy Dair Moments Batman! Who saw Pret-a-Poor-Jenny? I'm going to be completely honest, if there hadn't been those salvaging Dan/Blair interactions, the whole episode would have stank for me. Though, FINALLY!, Chuck and Blair are finito- paving the way for all things Dair. And you know Dan's going to be all noble and apologize to Blair for intentionally interfering the wrong way. He has to- now that Serena's all 'Grunge artist from summer camp woo!'- and after apologizing they're going to start making out like grizzly bears. Because grizzly bears make out. And because that's the only logical next step. Obviously. Hope everyone enjoys chapter six!

**Chapter Six**  
_New York, New York  
Thursday, January 26  
7:26:34 A.M. EST_

Constance Billard and St. Jude's is one, regal, brick building, split up into a girls' wing, a boys', and integrated halls for classes. My locker is located in one of the girls' hallways (obviously) and it's neatly organized by class period. Taped onto the inside of the locker door is a decal of the Yale bulldog.

"So, I want to go to Yale," I remark to Serena.

She glances up as she gathers my textbook and notebooks for me, smiling, she says, "Yeah- You're pretty hell-bent on getting in."

I nod to myself.

"Where is your French book?" she asks absently, looking through my Chanel tote, peering into my locker.

As she's sifting through everything, I remember the French 4 Honors book sitting on my desk- the one I didn't know I was supposed to bring to school today (and why would I? I don't know my classes!).

"Oh- I think I forgot it at home," I say apologetically.

Serena immediately lightens herself (for my benefit, no doubt) and says, "That's fine- I'm sure Janier won't mind."

Right. He won't mind because I'm an invalid.

"Blair!"

I turn and find four girls standing and staring at me, as if in awe. They're all dressed in uniform, with designer pieces added into their ensembles (like Serena as well) and they seem extremely put-together. I feel inadequate in comparison, and it makes me prickle with anger. Last night Dorota pointed out my uniform requirements to me, so I was able to get dressed this morning without committing a major faux pas. I put on a high-waisted, black, pencil skirt, a white blouse with a ruffled neckline, and patent leather pumps. I feel comfortable and confident in the clothes (even more so, because Serena seemed absolutely thrilled with the way I looked when she came to pick me up), but these girls just seem to know who they are and what they're used to wearing. I just feel so confused, and I wish I knew what I was used to wearing and used to doing.

I stare at the four girls and examine them. There's one girl with dark hair and a catlike face, looking judgmental but forcedly-sweet. There's a short girl with a honey-blonde bob and an awed expression on her face. An Asian girl looks as if she's awaiting her marching awards, smiling with hesitation. And there's a girl with beautiful, dark skin and very curly hair, looking between the others, as if trying to gauge the proper reaction- she settles for watching me expectantly.

"Can I help you?" I reply.

Serena closes the locker and turns to us, "Oh- B, these are our friends."

More friends.

"This is Penelope," she says, gesturing to the girl with the cat-face and dark hair. "This is Kati," she points to the Asian girl. "This is Isabel," she nods toward the girl with extremely curly hair. "And this is Hazel," she says, referring to the remaining girl- the one with the bob.

I nod to them, giving them a critical smile.

Hazel breathes, "So it's true?"

"What?" I ask, growing slightly annoyed.

"You really don't remember anything?" Isabel almost demands.

I don't think it would be best to point out the fact that I _do_ remember something. I remember Dan but- urgh.... Let's not even think about that.

Serena sighs, "Guys, I wasn't making it up."

"Well- Gossip Girl said-"

"Guys!" Serena reprimands. "She has amnesia- and besides, Gossip Girl isn't always truthful."

Hazel and Penelope are both about to say something, but a bell resounds in the hall and they stop themselves.

Prettily, Penelope says, "We'll see you guys at lunch," and they follow her down the expanse of hallway.

Once they're gone, Serena rolls her eyes and hands me my tote. I sling it over my shoulder, and she picks her bag off the floor, hanging it on the crook of her arm. She leads me in the opposite direction in which the girls left, and turns down another corridor. She points out the little plaque that hangs over the corridor's entrance- the one that says 'Language Hallway,' and she tells me this is where all of the foreign language classes take place. That's easy enough, so I don't even nod in recognition. At the end of the hallway, we stop outside of a classroom. There's a bunch of girls and guys hanging around in front of the lockers outside of the room, talking and chatting. As we approach, they all fall silent and look at us, eyeing me as if I'm a ticking time-bomb. Some of them turn and whisper to one another, but mostly they just stare, openmouthed. I wonder when this is going to stop. Serena sighs for me, and pulls me toward the wall, a few feet away from the group.

"Okay, so this is French 4 Honors," she explains. "Your teacher is Mr. Janier and from what I hear, he's kind of crazy- but in a fun kind of way."

I knot my eyebrows, "This isn't your French class too?"

"No, I stopped taking a language after sophomore year," she explains. "Once you get in there and we talk to Janier for a minute, I have to go to my physics class."

I'm panicked at the idea that she's going to leave me to fend for myself for a whole class period, but I'm also annoyed that I have to be escorted around from class to class at all.

Serena says, "I'll be waiting right outside the second the bell rings though- Headmistress Queller gave me a pass to get out early and get in late for every class until you get acclimated."

I smile briefly, feeling even more like a pathetic loser as the minutes pass.

Everyone starts filing into the classroom, and Serena and I follow them. As we enter the room, everyone else takes their seats, but Serena and I go to the front of the room, where a chubby, balding man with a bushy mustache is sitting at his desk. Looking around the room, I see an array of some famous French paintings hanging on the walls, a bulletin board filled up with postcards, hosting snapshots of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc du Triomphe, Place de la Concorde, Notre Dame, and Versailles. The room is bright and chaotic- in the way that language classes ought to be- and I find myself smiling.

"Excuse me, Mr. Janier?"

The man looks up, and as soon as he sees me he smiles, loudly saying, "Bonjour, Blanche! Comment ca va?"

Who is Blanche?

"Blanche is your French name," Serena explains. She turns to Monsieur Janier and says, "I think Headmistress Queller emailed you about what happened- About Blair's amnesia."

"Ah, yes, yes," he nods, his face grave and serious now. "And how are you, sweetie?" he asks of me.

I want to hug him, he's just so sweet.

I give him a little smile, "I'm doing okay, thank you."

"She still can't remember anything though," Serena points out. "But she can remember how to speak French."

Monsieur's eyes light up, "Ah! C'est vrai? La langue est de le coeur, pas la tete, n'est-ce pas?"

I smile sweetly, easily, saying, "C'est vrai, Monsieur."

He beams.

"So, I'll be going, but I'll be back for second period, okay?" Serena asks of me.

I nod, hoping nobody else notices the fact that I have to be treated like a toddler.

"Merci, ma belle," Monsieur Janier calls as Serena leaves. "Et Blanche," he stands and gently ushers me to a seat in the front of the room, to the side, beside a pimply boy with greasy hair.

I know- somehow- that I was _never_ okay about sitting next to this piece of work.

The morning goes by in a blurry mass of noxious confusion and nausea.

French is easy, because it's only speaking in a language I seem to be fluent in. Second period Physics with Dr. Brass, however, is possibly the worst form of torture ever invented (unintentionally, maybe). The woman is old and slightly pathetic- I almost feel bad as I stare at her outfit, hair, and aura, in disgust. And to make matters worse, she has no sympathy for me and expects me to know all of the formulas and terms she throws at me. The only reason I don't leave the class all together, is because Hazel is in my class and she pretty much does everything for me. And my third period elective, World Governments, is manageable. My teacher, Mr. Efrinn, shouts a lot, but he's exciting and passionate about what he's teaching, so I enjoy it.

By the time the bell rings for lunch though, I'm glad to be taking a break from things I'm expected to know and people I'm supposed to recognize.... At least for a few minutes.

"So, what's your final verdict on the morning?" Serena asks me, as we reconvene outside of the World Governments' classroom in the Social Studies hallway.

I sigh, "It was all right."

She gives me a sympathetic look as we go back to my locker.

We spend lunch on the steps of the Met, with the girls who are- presumably- my friends. We all eat yogurt, fruit, granola, salad, or sushi. Right now I just want a double cheeseburger- my stomach is growling so horribly- but the thought brings on guilt, so I focus on my yogurt with gusto. The girls talk about designers, people, places, gossip- things I can't recall. I notice Serena roll her eyes and huff a little, more than once, but I can't pinpoint why. Is it for my benefit? because I'm so left out? Or is it something else entirely?

"Oh em gee, guys," Hazel says, pausing her chopsticks midway to her mouth. "We're totally leaving B out."

I look at all of them, now staring at me with pity.

"I totally forgot about the memory thing," Kati says, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Should we give her a refresher on all the latest gossip?" Penelope asks, almost wickedly.

I'm about to tell them to go ahead, because it'd be better than being completely confused, but Serena steps in, saying, "No, guys."

"Why not?" Isabel asks. "How else is she supposed to remember?"

Serena looks annoyed at all of them as she says, "Not today."

I'm confused, but I don't say anything- I can't, I'm now distracted. Glancing along the length of the sidewalk, I see Dan walking toward us. He doesn't see me looking at him, so I do it freely. I'm not going to lie, but seeing him- no, seeing someone I recognize- makes my shoulders sag and my anxiety wash away. I don't feel so lost and trapped, because I _know_ him, and my body reacts accordingly. Every muscle and ligament relaxes, and a smile adorns my lips for a fraction of a second. Seeing him reminds me that, somehow, this _is_ my life, and it always has been. And I'm privately grateful for his appearance at our lunch spot.

"Dan!" Serena says happily, her whole face breaking into a smile when she sees Dan ascending the steps.

I avert my eyes from him and focus on the granola in my raspberry yogurt.

When he's reached our group he sits down beside Serena and they kiss briefly, causing the girls to grimace and curl their lips. Haha.

They break apart, he puts his arm around her, and she asks, "What are you doing over here?"

Because apparently it's not usual for him to sit with us during lunch. Not that I would know.

"I was just coming over to see how your day was," he says. Then he looks over and notices me sitting there silently, and he- forcing himself?- asks, "Blair. How's your first day back?"

I sigh, "As good as can be expected."

I'm tempted to say, _Better now that you're here_, but that would definitely be taken the wrong way.

Ergh.

I'm sick of this amnesia thing.

My new psychologist's name is Dr. Shonberg. She's young- probably only in her thirties- and pretty, with curly, shoulder-length, auburn hair, long-lashed, big brown eyes, and an easy, addictive smile. She's slim, dressed in a gray designer skirt, and a nicely fitted navy blue sweater. Around her neck is a simple string of pearls, and she has an adequate amount of make-up on. All in all, I'm relieved. When I heard Shonberg I was expecting an old man- like Freud. But this Dr. Shonberg is acceptable.

"So, Blair," she says, once we're alone in her sunny office, with my mother out in the waiting room. "Let me start off by saying that whatever you tell me here will be in complete confidence."

I feel as if I'm having deja vu.

"Unless you make any mention of hurting someone else or yourself- then I have to bring it up outside of our sessions," she gives me an encouraging smile, despite the meaning behind her words. "Okay?"

I nod.

She nods too, then prompts, "So, you must have had a pretty crazy week."

I let out a little, harsh laugh, saying, "You can't imagine."

With an amused smile, she tells me, "I'm interested to hear about it."

"It's the usual- you know," I reply. "Wake up from a three-day coma, find you've forgotten your whole life because of a car accident, but you...." I trail off of my tirade, realizing what I'm about to say.

She waits.

I don't say anything. Instead, I look out one of the massive windows of her Park Avenue office, at windows across the street, pursing my lips. The afternoon sun is glinting off the opposing glass, shining into the bright, airy room I'm in- all brightness and heat on this January day. I dig my nails into the leather armchair I'm sitting in, gritting my teeth slightly. A part of me wants to open up to this woman- to _someone_- and to just spill my guts out. What a relief it would be to have someone who will listen and give me advice- someone who isn't upset that I don't remember them from a previous life. But, on the other hand, this affliction is mine. This loss of memory and sense of my life, belongs to me and me alone. I don't need to confess to her how I feel or what I'm thinking. I just don't have to. Besides, I especially don't want to talk about my remembering Dan.... Only Dan.

"But you....?" she prompts.

I sigh, saying, "But I _can_ remember something."

She looks very inquisitive.

"My supposed best friend's boyfriend."

She looks surprised, which surprises _me_. Has no one warned her about the specifics?

"Wow," she says, looking surprised and amused.

"Uh-_huh_," I say, glad someone is understanding the magnitude of this situation.

She shakes her head, as if trying to grasp this, asking, "So- wait- what do you mean?"

"I mean, I woke up from this coma and didn't remember anyone," I explain. "I didn't remember my 'parents' or my 'best friend.' I couldn't remember any accident or my life before it."

When I don't continue she says, "I got that part. But, the rest?"

Taking a deep breath, I say, "My best friend- Serena- her boyfriend thought it would be the polite thing to do to bring flowers to the hospital since I'm Serena's best friend."

"Right," Dr. Shonberg nods, as if this part makes perfect sense.

"But the weird thing is- I mean- I remember him."

She stares at me for a moment, "Only him?"

"Only Dan," I say, with slight regret.

"Why do you think that is?" she asks.

I let out an annoyed breath, "If only I knew."

"You say you remember- Dan, is it?" I nod. "You remember Dan as a person- Can you also recall memories from before the accident, concerning Dan?"

I nod slowly, "Yes. Maybe I'm forgetting some memories, but I don't feel like I am," I shrug, tired all of a sudden. "But within the memories, I can't remember other people or places- I can only remember me and Dan."

She stares at me for a moment, looking amazed, then tears her eyes away from me to glance at her watch, saying, "We're actually out of time for today, and I don't want to keep your mother waiting, but- Blair, I know everyone says it's mandatory that you see me, but-" she cuts herself off and says. "I don't want to force you."

I digest this for a moment.

"Would you like to return every week at this time? We don't even have to talk about the amnesia situation, we can talk about anything you want- whatever you're comfortable with."

This hasn't been too painful, so I say, "I guess that would be okay."

It's not like I can figure myself out on my own.

**Author's Note:** So, that was the chapter! Hope everyone liked it! Eeeeeek! Halloween is coming up! Who is dressing up!? I, myself, am rocking an awwwwwwwwwwwesome Marie Antoinette costume (I can't even contain the awesomeness in words wgkgejgelkhegef!), and I am going to a haunted orchard and then to a headless horsemen thing-a-ma-jig, _and_ I'm throwing a party with one of my bffers (yeah I said bffer), and I am so excited! I freaking love holidays! What's everyone's costumes/plans for Halloween?! Also, an extra cookie for whoever offers up the best costume ideas for Dan and Blair! That might just evoke a new story idea. 'cause I _need_ another idea! Haha. Cheers!


	8. Tiny Spark

**Chapter Seven**  
_New York, New York  
Friday, January 27  
3:48:12 A.M. EST_

I'm pressed between the leather seat of a taxi and the barrier between the back and front seats. Everything is sandwiched and smashed together- broken and squeezed- and I know none of it's right. I'm sitting at a strange angle, with my knees pulled up to my chest, and my arms stuck between my chest and the barrier. The seat isn't even underneath me, it's behind me, pushed upward at an obtuse sort of position, pressing into my back. I can't think about the car though- there are too many things going on around me for me to focus on just one. The door to my far left has been broken in, and the glass from the window is pinching through my clothes and into the skin of my face. Fat rain droplets are driving their way into the cab, and I feel cold and wet because of it. I hear people yelling. The driver in the front is breathing in a strange sort of way- and it sounds as if it's bubbling within his throat, liquidy. Cars honk. Somewhere, I think I hear steam hissing, and a sort of erratic ticking. I'm terrified and in pain. My head is throbbing, as if my brain has been rattled in my skull. Somewhere along my hairline, a hot kind of pain is blossoming and throbbing. I just want to go home. I don't like this. I start to cry because I can't control myself. I can't move. I've never been so scared-

With some shock, I pull myself from the depths of sleep and stare, panicked, into the darkness of my room.

That was- Was that the car accident? The accident I was in before I lost my memory? My head begins to hurt as I focus all of my attention on trying to remember. And it's all no use anyway. The fact that I can't know if it was my accident- after having just experienced it in the form of a dream- makes me anxious and depressed. This is never going to get better.

For a few minutes I lay in the darkness, listening to the light traffic outside, trying to go to sleep, before getting out of my bed, and turning on the TV. I watch The Cosby Show, thinking it will distract me. The canned laughter and wonderful family life makes my anxiety worsen, and I hug my legs to my body, sitting on my bed, shivering in the flickering light of the television set.

As I watch Rudy Huxtible talk about saving a baby bird, with Theo getting pissed or something, one thought enters my mind.

I want Dan Humphrey.

Not in the way you would think. No. I want him here with me right now. We wouldn't have to talk, or even be that close to each other- I just want him in this room with me right now. I want to be able to see him, to sense his presence and know he's there. Only because he's familiar to me- because he anchors me to this life when nothing else does.

Rudy's on TV in the episode now, and it's all endearing and sweet, but tears are seeping out of my eyes. I press my eyelids together, trying to keep my lips from quivering. Nothing helps. My chin shakes and my lips pull apart, allowing my body to lean into a silent sob. Tears are quickly filling up my eyes, trailing down my cheeks faster than I can wipe them away. I fall sideways, laying down, while still staring at the TV, shaking and crying hopelessly.

This is not fair.

Why do I have to remember someone that I've hated- someone that I can't be around for any logical reason? Why did I have to lose my memory at all? Why did this have to happen now? Why me?

I crawl back under the covers and sob into my pillow.

Eventually, I fall asleep like that.

* * *

I don't feel like I have to, or _should_ tell anyone about my dream the next day. So, I don't mention it to Dorota when she wakes me up, after she asks me how I've slept. I don't tell Harold or Eleanor about it at breakfast. Instead, I listen to them recount memories of family vacations and holidays past. I don't tell Serena when she comes and picks me up for school- which is surprising, because the person I'm closest to right now- out of all these strangers- is Serena. But even though I feel closest to her, I don't tell her. I don't even consider telling anyone.

In English however, that all changes.

The moment I walk into the room and see that Dan is in my class, I have the immediate urge to tell him about my dream. Obviously, I don't. My seat is diagonally behind his though, and the whole time I'm just itching to reach forward and just spill my guts out to him. The realization of this makes me curl my lips and roll my eyes, but I can't help it.

The teacher lectures us about _Canterbury Tales_ for a minute, and then she's pairing everyone up to work on a character analysis.

Of course, the woman pairs me with Dan.

We move our desks beside each other and look blankly at our textbooks. We have the Wife of Bath, and we have to analyze her.

"All right," Dan begins, his pen poised above a clean sheet of paper. "So the Wife of Bath is obviously a satirical figure meant to demonstrate Chaucer's beliefs on women."

I smirk at him, "You are so pretentious, Humphrey."

He glances at me and gives me a humorless smirk, "No, I'm just not literarily-challenged."

"Did you really just say 'literarily?'"

He smirks, obviously amused at himself as much as I am.

Without saying anything else, he starts scribbling away at his paper. We sit in silence as he does this, and I stare blankly at my textbook. I don't remember reading any part of _Canterbury Tales_, so I really can't be of much help anyway. As I sit in my silence, I listen to everyone around me, loud and chattery, without even really hearing them. I think about my dream- about the reality and the confusion of it. Until this class, I didn't want to tell anyone about it- I wanted to keep it to myself and hide it within my mind. To forget about whether I'm recalling something but not remembering it. But, right now, with Dan, I want to tell him. I glance at him surreptitiously- something about him is so welcoming and comforting, disregarding the fact that I still hate him.

"We should probably mention that she's a revolutionary character-" he says, but cuts himself off, because at the exact moment, I say, "I had a dream about a car accident last night."

For a moment he doesn't move.

When he looks up and meets my eyes, he asks, "What?"

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I clear my throat and say, "Last night- I had a dream about a car accident."

He thinks about this for a moment, and then says, "Was it about _your_ accident?"

"I don't know," I say, shaking my head. "I had the dream, but it didn't seem familiar to me."

Dan's eyes scan the desk blindly as he thinks. He only looks up when he says, "Did you tell your parents- or your doctor?"

"No," I say.

"Serena?"

"No."

"Just me?" he asks.

I shrug, "Yeah," as if it's not a big deal- and it isn't, is it?

"Why me?" he wants to know.

"I don't know, I just felt like it," I say.

He shakes his head, "Well, Blair you have to tell your doctor-"

"Why?" I demand, not really wanting anyone but him to know.

"Because you could be remembering something in some kind of way," he says. "Something could be changing within your brain."

I wrinkle my nose at him, "Humphrey, please, it was a _dream_."

"Yeah, and that could mean something."

Maybe he is right.

I sigh, saying, "Fine. I'll tell my doctor the next time I go."

He gives me a look, as if this isn't good enough for him. I send him back a pointed look of retaliation, and he seems to give in- though, with a disapproving look.

* * *

I stare at the clock above the door, watching the moments tick away with dread. Every minute- every second- brings me closer to leaving English class, and this thought is making my stomach twist and knot with anxiousness. The mere fact that I can see Dan Humphrey, sitting diagonally in front of me, makes me feel calmer, as if I'm finally anchored to everything Blair Waldorf- even though I still don't remember anything. The teacher drones on, her lecture on the idol characters of _Canterbury Tales_ slipping through one ear and out the other. Dan is focusing on her, scribbling notes as she talks, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

What a little snot.

My eyes flicker to the clock again- shit! One minute.

And that little snot is keeping me from feeling nauseous and anxiety-ridden.

Tapping my nails impatiently against my desk, I try to think up some way for Dan to stay in my presence, or vice versa. The only connection we have is Serena, so she'll have to be there too- but that doesn't matter, I just need Dan there somehow.

The bell rings and I jump a little.

Grabbing my bag and my books, I hurry to the door behind Dan, knowing that I need to think fast. I almost reach out to tap his shoulder, my lips parted to call his name and make up some kind of excuse why we need to hang out, but I don't have to.

"Dan! Blair!"

Serena's waiting outside for us.

"Hey," Dan says to her, kissing her on the cheek with a smile.

It makes my stomach toss.

"B, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Starbucks before you go home," Serena says.

The idea pops up into my brain and I have to suppress my smile as I say, "That sounds good." As an aside, I shrug and say, "You can come too if you want, Humphrey."

"Really?" Serena asks, surprised.

I nod, as if it's not a big deal.

We both look to Dan to see what his answer will be.

He looks from me to Serena, who says, "Come with us, Dan, it'll be fun."

He looks to me once more, and then to Serena and says, "All right- Sure."

* * *

I hadn't anticipated how awkward it would be to go to Starbucks with Serena and Dan. I sort of feel like the third wheel, and for some reason, I think they both feel that way about themselves. Serena, because I only remember Dan, and Dan, because Serena's supposedly my best friend and I hate him. So, we sit, sipping our choice drinks, looking away from one another and silently acknowledging the tension and awkwardness.

"So," Serena begins, "when's the next time you go to the doctor, Blair?"

I stare at her incredulously for a moment, before saying, "Tuesday."

We fall silent again.

"The girls are all going out tomorrow," she says. "They want us to come with them."

"Fun," Dan says sarcastically, and Serena gives him a teasingly scolding look.

I shrug, "I'll go."

Serena smiles brightly, "Great! Do you want to come over my house beforehand to get ready, or should I go over your house?"

Blinking quickly, surprised by her sudden enthusiasm, I say, "You can come over my house."

"Great!" she beams, clapping a little. "This'll be just like old times!"

"What about you, Cabbage Patch?" I ask. "Did you party with us way back when?"

He smirks, "Don't you remember or not?"

I think about it.

"No," he says, sobering up, as if realizing something. "I hardly partied with you guys."

Serena's excitement has diminished, dampened by the fact that I brought up the big pink elephant in the middle of the room: I remember her boyfriend, and not her.

Suddenly, her phone is ringing, and she's digging through her bag. When she finds it, she immediately answers and says, "Hello?"

She's on the phone for a moment, saying things like: 'Omigod, I forgot!' and 'No, I'm right on my way!'

And all of a sudden, she's standing up.

"Do you have to go?" Dan asks.

"Yeah," she says. "I have a fitting for some gala my mom's sponsoring, and I totally forgot."

Nice.

She looks at me and then says, "I'm really sorry guys. Dan, would you mind bringing Blair home? I would- only I'm already running really late."

"Yeah- No, it's fine," he nods. "Don't worry about it."

I just _loooove_ being the convalescent invalid.

"Thank you," she leans forward and kisses him quickly, and I cringe. "B, I'll call you later, okay?"

I nod absently and watch her exit the Starbucks.

_And then there were two._

Dan looks back at me, and sighs.

"You don't need to take me home," I say indignantly. "I'm a big girl."

"A big girl with amnesia," he says. "And not all that big either."

I narrow my eyes at him and cross my arms, "I remember where I live."

"Really? How do you get there from here?"

Uh.....

"What's your address?"

I know this one.

"That's what I thought," he says. "You wouldn't even be able to get there by taxi."

I just glare at him,

"It's not a problem, Blair," he shrugs. "I don't mind taking you home."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Well, I mind being taken home."

He's silent after this, staring at me intently.

I snap, "What?"

"This can't be very easy for you," he says.

I laugh humorlessly, "No shit, Sherlock."

"I just mean- You can't like having people taking care of you like this- Not when you're who you are."

Raising my eyebrows, I question, "Who am I?"

"Blair Waldorf," he says, smirking a little. "Queen B? Hell's Angel?"

I smirk.

"It's just weird to see you have to be dependent," he frowns a little, never looking away from my eyes. "And I can't imagine that you'd like it."

Quietly, I say, "I don't like it."

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

I look back at him, saying, "Humphrey, I've told you to stop apologizing to me for things that aren't your fault!"

He gives me a sad smile, "Sorry."

I glare at him jokingly.

He puts his hands up defensively, "I won't do it again."

"Good," I say.

He sighs again, "Are you ready to go?"

No. I don't want to be away from this boy who is my only link to who I am.

I nod all the same.

* * *


	9. The Air We Breathe

**Author's Note:** Sorry it took forever and a day to update this! I really appreciate all the reviews I get for this story- They are so awesome. You guys keep me so encouraged with my writing, and for that I am truly and undeniably grateful. Again, sorry this chapter took forever to put up.... It's long and dramatic, just for you guys! Enjoy!

**Chapter Eight**  
_New York, New York  
Saturday, January 28  
6:16:56 P.M. EST_

I spend Saturday with my parents. We go to lunch, and then get dessert at Serendipity. The whole time, they regal me with stories of our past, making me laugh and ache at the same time- wishing I knew my life, but still able to disconnect myself from what they're saying. Truthfully, if I had to pick parents, I probably wouldn't pick Eleanor and Harold. She's neurotic and controlling- and I can tell just from the little things she does- and he's a little subservient and gentle. But, really, I'm starting to like them. Harold is probably one of the sweetest people I've ever met (not that I would remember), and Eleanor can actually be funny when she's not trying too hard.

So, all in all, it's a good day.

When we get back home around five, Serena comes over with a duffel bag full of make-up and clothes. It takes all of five minutes for me to settle into getting ready.

It's as if by instinct that I thumb through my clothes, trying on certain articles and discarding them onto the bed as I go. Serena and I chatter and laugh as we try things on, goofing around with vintage shoes and feather boas. We don't talk about what I remember or don't remember, or that big pink elephant in the room- oh yeah, I remember your boyfriend and not you. Instead, we talk about teachers and school- things that are slowly becoming familiar to me. If I don't remember something or I'm confused, I just ask her what she's talking about and she smoothly fills me in. There are no awkward gaps to our time together, and we have fun. For the first time since leaving the hospital, I feel light and easy.

I finally decide on some chic, high-waisted black jeans, a flirty, white, flouncy shirt, and some bright red pumps. With both of us dressed, Serena and I start to do our make-up and hair, side by side, at the vanity table.

We sit in amiable silence for a few minutes, Britney Spears drifting from my computer speakers. And then something occurs to me.

"Serena, when I was in the hospital you said you'd explain all the drama from before my accident when I got home," I say.

She pauses, her blush brush halfway to her face.

I remind her, "I'm home."

Nodding slowly, she puts down her brush.

There's no sound, save for Britney's singing.

"Please tell me," I say.

She looks at me, with pity and regret flickering behind her eyes, "Are you sure you want to hear everything?"

I nod, swallowing. "Yes."

She nods too, looking away and sorting out her thoughts.

"We've been best friends since preschool," she tells me. "And we've been friends with Nate and Chuck ever since then too."

I think of Nate- handsome, classical, green-eyed, sweet- and Chuck- cool, arrogant, in-control, attractive.

Serena continues, "You and Nate dated on and off from, like, fifth grade, to this year."

My mouth falls open in slight surprise. I try to place myself in the shoes of Nate's girlfriend, but I don't know him, so it's difficult.

"What happened?" I ask, hesitantly.

She peers at me nervously, looking away, down at her fingers, which are wrapped around each other tightly.

Pausing briefly, she says, "Well, Nate and I- He and I had sex last summer- before sophomore year."

My eyes blink open and I'm even more surprised.

"I ran away to boarding school because I honestly didn't know how I could be your friend after that," she tells me, her eyes shining with oncoming tears. "I felt so bad- because I knew you needed me, but- I couldn't be friends with you after what I had done."

She slept with my boyfriend, when I was still dating him?

I wait for more.

Taking in a shuddering breath, she continues, "Anyway, um- I came back in September and everything came out. You found out and we fought and it was messy and horrible."

I look at the material of my jeans. How do I feel, knowing that I can't uncover the feelings from this mess?

"You and Nate made up and we made up and I started dating Dan and- I mean, you didn't like him at all- but everything was okay."

I nod, smiling only slightly.

"But you and Nate fought and- You had sex with Chuck."

"What?!" I can't help but blurt out.

She nods, "You lost your virginity to him."

I blink furiously, feeling my stomach knot.

"Nate found out and you guys broke up," she says sadly. "Then you had sex with Chuck again."

A bark of a laugh escapes from my mouth and Serena smiles too, as if just realizing how funny it kind of is.

"Then, you had sex with Nate again," she says, a mischievously humored smile on her face.

I laugh out loud.

"What else?" I ask.

Her face clouds over and she freezes.

I swallow, "It gets worse?"

She nods.

"Go on."

"Your period was late, and I was afraid you were pregnant," she says softly. "You took the test and you weren't, but somehow, the whole school found out the scare."

My heart starts thudding in my ears, and I can feel the heat rising in my face. Just thinking about that humiliation makes my palms itch and my gag reflex pulse.

I nod, signaling for her to continue.

She sighs, then says, "All the girls at school shunned you, and Nate and Chuck wouldn't talk to you," she says. "We got into a fight and I left here, refusing to stand by you if you were going to be a bitch to me."

A small smirk twitches at my lips.

"It got too much for you- You asked your mom if you could go to France to stay with your dad and Roman for the semester," she whispers. "You were going to run away like I had."

My eyes burn a little, and I swallow, managing to ask, "What happened then?"

She shakes her head, "I realized that you were my best friend, and I couldn't let you do what I had done." Taking in another shaky breath, she says, "I met you at the helipad and convinced you stay and weather the storm."

I smile, the tears pooling in my eyes as she tells me this tale of a life that couldn't be my own.

"It was on the way home- You had just dropped me off at The Palace-" she cuts herself off, wiping at her eyes. "That was when you got into the accident- on the way home."

The room goes silent, and I realize that Britney is no longer singing. The playlist must have ended.

I think about what Serena's just told me- trying to digest all of this. But, no matter how hard I try to wrap my head around what she's said, I feel as if she's just explained the plot of some story, with characters and twists that I now understand. But that's not my life. That can't be me and what I've done- what I've experienced. Except, why would she lie to me? What could she possibly get out of making up some faux-life for me?

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

I shake my head, knotting my eyebrows, "No-No. Thank you for telling me."

She's looking at me cautiously.

"So, all those people who were mad at me and shunning me before the accident," I begin. "They've just stopped doing that because I have amnesia and because I was in a car accident."

She nods, "Well, yeah- They weren't going to make you feel like shit when you wouldn't understand why."

I snort, "This is all ridiculous."

She smiles sadly and sympathetically.

"If you don't want to go out with the girls I understand- they're bitches anyway," she says brightly. "We could stay home and watch _Ace Ventura_, and get drunk off vodka and Kool-Aid."

That suddenly sounds like heaven, compared to a night out at a club.

I nod, "That sounds great."

* * *

I wake up with a start, breathing harshly in the dark of my bedroom. Beside me is Serena, lying on the bed, snoring softly, dead to the world. Looking around my room, I gather my bearings and try to calm down. Everything's fine. Everything's okay.

Though we didn't get drunk, we did have Kool-Aid, and a little bit of vodka, while watching old home videos of past school plays and whatnot. We laughed until we cried, talking a little more about catching me up on my own life and what I can't recall. We fell asleep sometime after one, and now- checking the clock, I see- it's almost four in the morning. I wouldn't have shot up in bed, terrified, but it's just- I had the same nightmare- the one where I'm in the back of the taxi after an accident, and it's raining and I'm bleeding and crying.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I crawl out of bed and stand by my window, looking outside.

I rub my arms nervously, trying to warm myself up from the outside in.

What is happening to me? Why does my life have to be so difficult?

Even though I'm looking out of the window, toward the quiet street outside, I'm catching flashes of my dream still. Red and blue flashing lights, swiveling across my line of vision. Water, pounding against the leather seat in thick, fat droplets, dampening my clothes and face. The stinging in my cheek and brow line. The sound of hissing steam and a ticking engine. Car horns. Yelling. Medical jargon. Pain. I'm in so much pain. I want my mom. I want Dorota. I want to get out of this and be home, in my bed. I want it all to stop.

My throat is burning and my eyes are blinking away the tears furiously as I stare outside.

I'm so scared and so confused, and I've never felt so trapped.

A noxious anxiety rips its way up my body and I'm shaking furiously. I want to tear out my hair and jump out of my skin, and I feel like running into a wall- I'm suddenly so restless. Swallowing back the bile that is threatening to rise in my throat, I look around my room desperately. Dare I wake Serena because of a sudden panic attack? No, I don't feel that close to her yet. But- what can I-

Dan.

Without even contemplating what I'm doing, I move to Serena's bag on my vanity table. I grab her phone and my new one, and retreat into the bathroom.

My hands shake as I rifle through her contacts and find Dan's number. I misdial it twice because of my shaking fingers, but I manage to punch it into my own keypad.  
_  
Ring._

My heart starts to beat faster and faster.

_Ring._

Please answer.

_Ring._

No. Don't answer.

_Ring._

Oh God, it's four in the morning! What the hell am I doing?

_Ring.  
_  
Dan is really the only person who makes me feel safe and secure in this life.

_Ring._

Just-

"_Hi, this is Dan. I'm not here, so leave a message_."

Beeeeeeeeeep.

I don't know what to say, but I can't bring myself to hang up.

"Dan," I say, and my voice sounds hoarse and dry. "I'm sorry- I mean- I shouldn't have called so late or- er- early- but, I had that dream again and...." I trail off. "I don't know why I called. Sorry."

And I hang up.

I put both phones down on the floor, and sit beside the toilet with the seat up.

Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm on my knees, leaning over the toilet, shoving my finger down my throat- as far back as it'll go- and then my stomach is heaving. My throat clenches and my whole body tightens. My heart races and my chest hurts. Up comes the half digested pizza Serena and I ate earlier. Kool-Aid colors the toilet water red, and I'm crying- sputtering- choking- breaking down a little bit and I don't even know why.

With shaking limbs I reach up and flush the toilet, standing unsteadily and washing my face and rinsing my mouth.

I sit back down in front of the toilet, my stomach heaving and my chest breaking sobs in intervals. The fact that I don't understand why I'm so anxious and upset- that I can't understand why I'm throwing up and freaking out- propels this attack forward. I feel so alone and trapped and it makes me scared and nervous.

Suddenly, there's a buzzing sound echoing in the bathroom.

For a split second, I think I'm hallucinating, and then- Oh yeah.

Looking down, I see Dan calling me and I sigh in relief, grabbing it and hitting SEND.

"Hello?" I say, and I cringe at how watery and out of sorts I sound.

"Blair?" Dan says. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

A sob escapes my mouth and I try really hard to control myself, telling him, "I'm sorry I called you- I was just- I had that dream again and I was just- I think I'm having some kind of panic attack."

"What happened?" he asks, and it amazes me how compassionate he can be when we hated each other so blatantly before my accident.

"I-I had that dream again- The one about the accident, and I woke up and I was just-" I shake my head. "I don't know, I just feel trapped- I can't breathe."

He cuts in, "Blair, listen to me."

I shut up.

"Take a deep breath- In through your nose and out through your mouth," he tells me.

I do as he says, feeling my body tense up and shake fervently as I breathe in, and then relax as I breathe out.

"Now just come calm down," he says, and his voice is deep and soothing. "Just breathe and calm down."

Closing my eyes, I listen to the sound of his voice, instructing me to breathe. I do this. I breathe slowly and focus on relaxing. My heart races, but it's being pulled to a lower speed. My whole body is beginning to relax and release.

He sighs, and tiredly says, "Blair, I don't mind you calling me- even if it is four in the morning." He laughs a little, then tells me, "I'm the only one you remember, and I don't mind that you feel like I'm the only connection you have to your past life."

"Thank you," I breathe. relieved that he seems to understand me.

"But, really, you have to tell your parents or your doctor," he commands. "If this dream is going to repeat and give you a panic attack, you need to tell your doctor."

I sigh.

He reprimands me, "Do you want to go through this again?"

"It's not the first time," I mutter.

"What?"

I sigh again, "It's not the first time I've had a panic attack since I got back from the hospital."

"Blair, why didn't you tell someone?"

"I don't know- I just-" I think about it. "I don't know."

Breathing tiredly, he says, "Tell your parents in the morning-"

"No."

"Blair."

I fight, "You don't understand!" Swallowing, I say, "I don't feel like they're my parents- I don't feel comfortable telling them this kind of stuff."

"But you feel comfortable telling me?"

I don't answer, but I know he takes it as the yes that it is.

Sighing yet again, he says, "You have to tell your doctor at least."

"Fine," I give in. "I'm going to see Dr. Ryce on Monday- I'll tell him then."

"Do you promise?"

I sag a little, "Yes."

"Okay."

We fall into silence.

"Do you think you can go back to sleep now?" he asks.

I consider this, then reply, "Yes."

"Okay, then I'll talk to you later-"

"Dan?"

He pauses, "Yes?"

"Can you not tell Serena about this?" I glance at my door. "Please."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, then responds with difficulty, "Okay."

"Thank you- For everything," I say softly, truly and genuinely meaning it.

"You're welcome," he says, just as sincerely. "Now go to sleep."

I smile a little, saying, "Okay. Good night."

"Good night," he replies, and hangs up.

I pick up the phones and get off the bathroom floor, realizing something.

I don't feel so alone anymore.

* * *


	10. Dare You to Move

**Author's Note:** Happy Monday! Hope everyone likes chapter nine!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**  
_New York, New York  
Sunday, January 29  
8:23:56 A.M. EST_

"Miss Blair."

The voice faintly probes its way into my idling brain, and I groan a little.

"Miss Blair."

I wave it off, hoping to push away the tendrils of sound lapping at my ears.

A sigh.

Then, "Miss Blair, you get up now."

Prying my eyes open, I see Dorota standing over me.

I stare at her.

"You and your mama go to brunch at The Palace."

What?

"What?" I say aloud, and my throat is thick and cracking. I sit up and look over at the rest of my bed, seeing that Serena is gone.

"Miss Serena go home to get ready for brunch," Dorota clarifies.

I nod.

After a beat of silence, the doting woman asks, "Should I draw a bath for you, Miss Blair?"

Looking over at her, as if seeing her for the first time, gratitude and affection swell up in my chest for this woman. I smile a little, saying, "Yes, please."

She disappears into the bathroom and I fall back onto my pillows, allowing my eyes to slide shut and my body to sink into the heavy mattress beneath me. Suddenly, Dan's voice is filling up my mind, and I'm recounting the night before. My eyes open slowly, and I stare at the ceiling, feeling my stomach clench a little. The dream and the panic attack that followed. God, I called _Dan_. I wince. But he was the only one I felt comfortable with calling- the only one who I thought could make me feel better. It still makes me cringe at the memory- of my weakness and my desperation.

And I asked him to keep it a secret from Serena- the one person I can't remember that I've felt most comfortable with. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Miss Blair," Dorota says, emerging from the bathroom. "Your bath is ready."

I reluctantly climb out of bed and manage a smile and a 'Thanks, Dorota,' before I go into the bathroom, close the door, and look forward to a long bubble bath before another treacherous day of people I don't know and memories I can't recall- all at a brunch I most certainly do not want to attend.

* * *

"Blair, honey- How are you feeling?"

I flinch away as the blonde woman pulls me into her arms, cradling a mimosa in one hand and my arm in the other. She doesn't seem to realize that I want to pull away- that I don't know who she is!- because she presses her cheek to mine, and I get a good whiff of perfume and detergent. Beside me, Eleanor stands, looking on uncomfortably, giving me an encouraging smile. I want to shoot her a pleading look, but I stop myself, and just hug this stranger. When she pulls away, I force a smile onto my lips.

Stepping forward, Eleanor says, "Blair still doesn't remember anything-"

"Oh my gosh!" the blonde woman says, and the upset in her eyes seems genuine. "Honey, I completely forgot- I'm so sorry- Shall I introduce myself?" she asks my mother.

Eleanor nods.

The blonde woman extends her free hand and says, "I'm Lily, I'm Serena's mom."

I should have known.

I give her a smile, shake her hand, and nod.

When we've dropped our handshake, she holds the champagne flute close to her mouth, but doesn't take a drink from it. Instead, she looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time, as if wishing she could smooth my hair and take me in her arms again- as if she feels _bad_ for me.

Yuck.

"Honey, I'm so sorry about the accident," she says, as if it's all her fault. "Blair, Eleanor, if there is anything I can-"

Tactfully, Eleanor cuts her off, putting a hand on my shoulder, saying, "Blair, darling, I think I see your friends by the window- Why don't you go get some food and sit with them?" She nods encouragingly and smiles.

"You don't mind?" I ask her.

She shakes her head, "Not at all. I'll be sitting with Lily and Bart and the Archibalds."

I nod, as if this is natural for me, and make my way through the large room, toward a table, laden with a colorful spread of gourmet breakfast foods and wonderful simplicities. As I look down at all the food, a growling clatters through my stomach, vibrating and aching violently. A ravenous hunger springs up within my guts- raging up my chest, clenching my throat. I want to grab at everything I see in front of me, shove it down my throat, and suppress the lioness hunger roaring within me. Hoping to abate my discomfort quickly, I grab a warm china plate and step forward.

I'm about to grab for a bagel and ask the girl behind the table for one of the omelets- filled with cheese and onions and bacons- but something stops me.

The omelet is deliciously greasy, and the bagel is stocked with carbs.

Fat. Everyone will think I'm a fatass.

Shaking my head a little, I take a delicate glass bowl of fruit and cream, and a piece of wheat toast.

The monstrous hunger within me protests, but I stick firm with my decision.

"Mimosa?"

Looking up, I see the girl holding out a wide champagne flute filled with the cool, orange cocktail. I glance around, as if I'm about to be scolded, and then smile sweetly at her, taking it.

Turning from the table, I look to make my way over to a round table by the window. At the table, sits Serena, Chuck, Nate.... Isabel, I think, and Kati. None of them see me standing here, and I wish Serena would at least spot me and wave me over.

This is awkward.

My stomach knots, fighting the hunger for attention, and I feel nauseous. I can't just walk over there and sit down- even if there are empty seats. Everything will get silent and strange, and their happy, familiar banter will cease. It makes my throat clench and my eyes burn. These are supposed to be my friends, I'm not supposed to dread sitting with them. But- But I don't _know_ them. I'm not comfortable with these people- They're not comfortable with me anymore.

Serena's eyes glance away from the conversation, a smile on her face, and she sees me. She waves excitedly, her smile turning into a grin, and beckons me over.

Well, wasn't this what I wanted?

No, I want to run and hide now.

I glide across the room, toward the table, and take the empty seat between Serena and Nate, placing my plate of fruit and cream and toast and my mimosa down on the pristine table cloth.

As I expected, everyone goes quiet, and I want to explode from the sheer embarrassment of it. My cheeks heat up and I contemplate feigning cramps and leaving.

_Blair Waldorf. Queen B. Hell's Angel._

Isn't that what Dan said that day at Starbucks? He did. I'm their Queen B. I can do this, can't I?

Looking up, I notice that Nate and Chuck are looking anywhere but at each other, or at me. Kati and Isabel are looking at me with wonder and expectancy, and Serena is looking as if she wishes everyone was handling this a little better. Oh God- Nate and Chuck still aren't talking. They aren't talking _because of me_. But when I looked over everyone was laughing and talking together- meaning that Kati, Isabel, and Serena were playing mediators pretty well. And me? I pretty much just screwed all of that up. The two are fighting again.

"So, how was the traffic on the way over?" Serena asks, as a pitiful excuse at making conversation.

Chuck snorts.

Everyone looks over at him, except Nate.

A hot annoyance flares up under my skin, and I roll my eyes at Chuck's behavior.

"Chuck, could you just try to be human for once?" Serena says, sounding tired.

He looks at all of us- his eyes lingering on me longer than I like- and he leans forward, speaking to Serena in a calculated, husky drawl, "Let's not pretend that this isn't seriously fucked-up."

My heart pounds, and I wonder if it's rattling my ribcage, or if I'm imagining that. I reach forward and pick up my mimosa, taking two generous gulps from the sweating glass.

"Chuck," Serena says, as if trying to scold him and stop him from going further at the same time.

"Why don't we lay the cards on the table?" he offers, turning to smirk at me a little. "You were in a car accident on your way home from your intended escape to France, but you're alive and you're functioning."

Everyone is staring at him. Even Nate has looked over at him. I'm holding my breath, nervous and embarrassed. I can feel my heart racing all of a sudden.

He continues, "Aside from your little stunt of playing the drama queen with amnesia, _nothing's changed_." His eyes bear down into mine, and I stare back at him, holding my ground as much as I can. "Nate and I both still think you're a slut, and none of your friends really like you-"

"Chuck!" Serena barks. "That's enough," her lips curl around the words and she stares at him threateningly.

He only leans back in his chair and smirks with satisfaction, looking at her with a smugness clear across his face.

Nate cuts in, "If you don't mind, I'd like to speak for myself."

"You still think she's a slut, don't lie-"

"Chuck!"

Over the short time it took for Chuck to say all of this, I've repeated the mantra over in my head. Queen B. Hell's Angel. Dan says so. And if Dan says so, then it's true. And I take in Chuck's biting words- what he's talking about and the maliciousness with which he's doing it- and I know that I can't let him do this. I can't let him step on me and think he has the upper hand here. Amnesia or not, I have my dignity, and that, I know, he can't take away from me.

Not while I have anything to say about it any way.

So as Serena's about to rail against Chuck with reprimands- for which he'll defend himself- and allow a fight to erupt between them, I decide that I need to cut in.

"Don't worry, Serena," I say. "I can handle this."

Everyone's eyes turn to me, and Chuck stares me down with a smile, as if he's pleased I'm standing up to him.

"You want to lay the cards on the table, Chuck?" I spit out his name, as if it tastes bad and I narrow my eyes at him. "Fine, then let's lay the cards on the table. I have amnesia- and I don't think that entitles me to fake sweetness and lies- so I appreciate your honesty," I say, my words hot and calculated. "But if you think I'm going to sit here and watch you wave your douchebag flag, then you are sadly mistaken."

His smirk falls and he narrows his eyes at me.

Standing up from the table and pushing my chair back, I throw my napkin onto the table and say, "Frankly, if my other alternative is remembering that I slept with you- I'm glad I lost my memory."

And with that, I stride away from the table, and out of the dining hall. I don't tell Eleanor that I'm leaving, and I ignore Serena as she calls after me.

Right now, I don't even care if I can remember how to get back home.

* * *

I spend a good hour walking through the park. It's cold and it's windy out, but I don't care. From inside my pocket, my new phone keeps buzzing, and I keep ignoring it. Whether it's Eleanor or Serena looking for me and worrying about me, or Chuck himself wanting to beg me for forgiveness, I don't want to talk to anyone. I feel like shit, and I'm sick of having to put up a facade for everyone. I'm tried of having to be around people I don't know- of feeling blocked up and confused. Walking through the park, alone, I see strangers- and it doesn't confuse or upset me- so I enjoy my time alone.

But Chuck's words flit through my head.

_Slut. None of your friends really like you._

I trust that Serena told me the whole truth, but all of a sudden I'm worrying that he's right. Was I a slut- Was I hated? I can't remember how people were before the accident, so I don't know the difference now. I hate this- this handicap- and it makes me want to rip my hair out of my scalp. I just wish I wasn't so dependent and helpless- why can't this memory loss just go away?

When I lose the feeling in my toes from the cold I exit the park, and start to walk down the sidewalk again.

Now the question is, how do I actually get home?

I know the city, but I can't remember what our address is, or what the familiar landmarks around our building look like. So, I wander past expensive shops and chic little restaurants, shivering and trying to keep my mind off my past and my present as I walk.

"Miss Blair!"

I turn and look toward the street, where Dorota is sticking her head out of the window of a town car, holding up traffic. She looks stern, frantic, upset, and relieved, all at the same time.

Crossing the street and getting into the town car without even thinking about it, I receive a long glare from our housekeeper.

"What?"

She shakes her head, "Your mama and papa are very worried about you."

I roll my eyes a little, and I'm terribly conscious of the fact that the walk didn't help me regain my patience and my composure. If anything, I feel worse.

"I just took a walk- I'm sure I've taken walks before," I say, sarcastically sweet.

She shakes her head, "Miss Blair, you have amnesia- Your mama hear from Miss Serena that you get into fight at brunch with Mr. Chuck and storm out, upset."

Taking in her words, I realize what's happened. Everyone must think that I've been so upset and distraught- they probably thought I was going to jump in front of a taxi or allow myself to get kidnapped or something.

"So?"

"Your mama and papa worry about you," she says. "They send me to come look for you."

Bitterly, I reply, "Well, you found me."

She sets me with a stern look as we pull up to our building. Paying the driver, Dorota opens the door and hurries me out of the car, into the building, and into the elevator.

When the doors open onto the penthouse foyer, I instantly hear heals clacking against the marble floor.

"Oh, Blair!" Eleanor says, pulling me into a hug when I manage to take a step out of the lift. "We were so worried."

Don't they think I can handle myself? I'm seventeen, for God's sakes.

I pull away and give her an acidic frown, "I noticed."

"Bear, you can't just take off like that without telling us," Harold says, a relieved but worried smile on his face.

"Serena said you got into a fight with Chuck at brunch," Eleanor says, wringing her hands. "What happened?"

I walk around her, and say, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, where were you for an hour?" she asks.

"Around."

She speaks up again, "Blair, you are in no condition to just-"

Before she can even finish her thought, my patience vanishes in a snap. I stop midway up the stairs and grip the railing, turning to shout down at them, "I have amnesia! I'm not a cripple!"

Eleanor looks as if she's been slapped, and Harold looks sad.

"God! Will you people just let me _breathe_ once in awhile?!" I groan and stomp up the rest of the stairs.

When I reach my room, I slam the door behind me and collapse onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and throwing it across the room with an angry snarl, ripping from my lungs.

This amnesia thing is getting really old.

* * *


	11. Paper Aeroplane

**Author's Note:** Sorry it took so very long to update this! I had a seriously important research paper I was working on, other school work, other writings, a lack of appreciation for Gossip Girl right now, and an overwhelming disgust for all things Blair/Chuck. But I am back. Hope the chapter was worth the wait! Enjoy!

**Chapter Ten**  
_New York, New York  
Monday, January 30  
7:14:02 A.M. EST_

I'm in a foul mood on Monday morning.

I feel as if I've slept about five minutes when Dorota wakes me up. None of my clothes feel right on me. Eleanor interrogates me at breakfast, asking me if I'm okay, if I'm sure I'm fit to go to school, if I remember that I have a doctor's appointment after school. I answer her noncommittally and eat my egg and spinach omelet, with Harold looking at me sympathetically. And then, when Serena picks me up I'm just in no mood to talk about the brunch, but that's all she wants to do.

"Chuck's an ass hole," she says, as we make our way up the street. "He's insensitive and selfish and-"

I cut her off, "You really don't have to explain his actions to me." I shake my head, "Whatever. Can we not talk about it?"

"I just want you to know that he's not-"

I shake my head still, stopping her, "I really don't care."

She stares at me carefully for a moment, and then quiets.

After a beat of silence, she says, "What he said about all of your friends hating you and thinking you were a slut...."

I look at her.

"Before the accident that was what happened- because of the Gossip Girl thing about you and Chuck and Nate," she says apologetically. "Not me- I didn't think that. I'm talking about Kati and Is and Penelope and Hazel."

I stare at a cab passing in the street and sniff back my running nose.

"Are you okay?" she asks, putting a hand on my arm.

I step sideways away from her, impatient and annoyed, and say, "I'm fine. I just don't want to talk about this."

She finally drops the subject.

* * *

During lunch Serena tells me she has to go to a meeting with a Brown representative, and that I can come if I want to. I decline this wholly and tell her I'll go to the Starbucks down the street- that I feel like being alone anyway. She hesitates, as if she fears leaving me to my own devices. I give her a look that I'm sure could freeze fire, and hotly protest her treating me like I'm incapable of functioning, just because I lost my memory. She's quick to apologize and to tell me that that's not what she thinks- she just doesn't want to leave me alone. I assure her I'll be more than fine. And as we parts ways in the busy hall, she looks at me worriedly, and tries to give me an assuring smile as she turns and heads toward the auditorium with her fruit and yogurt. A sigh escapes my lips when she's turned down another hallway, out of sight.

Freedom.

I'm in no mood to eat with the girls on the steps. Not only would it be awkward without Serena there, I don't think I'd be able to stay civil with them after what she told me this morning. Though I know I could shoot them down in a heartbeat- so thick and hot is my disgust and anger towards them- I don't think adding drama to my _already_ hectic and dramatic life is a smart idea. So, I avoid the steps after I exit the school, and make my way into the Starbucks down the street instead.

The cafe is warm, and the heady smell of coffee and pastries envelopes me. I eagerly join the line and eye the menu critically.

"Might I suggest the chai tea?"

I turn and see Dan standing behind me, waiting in line as well, smiling amiably with his hands in his pockets.

This turn of events makes my stomach drop and my heart beat quickly. I hadn't been expecting to actually speak to Dan today- God only knows why- and know that it's happening, I'm not sure how to react. Do I act as if nothing's happened? Do I thank him and be a sweetheart because he talked me down from a panic attack in the middle of the night?

Something in me so greatly appreciates the fact that he _did_ help me without hesitation, that it makes me give him a small smile.

"You can suggest anything you want," I say jokingly, "but it doesn't mean I'm going to get it."

He smiles genuinely and says, "Touchﾎ."

I move up in line, one person away from the counter. We fall into an awkward silence.

Dan clears his throat, "So, how- uh- how are you doing?"

I turn and raise an eyebrow at him, saying, "Peachy."

"I mean since the other day," he explains, looking a little uncomfortable.

I know what he means- I knew what he meant when he said it- and I shrug.

"Oh," he says sarcastically, as if I've actually just given him a detailed description of how I've felt since I called him, hysterical. "Is that so?"

Looking at him with intolerant eyes, I say, "I'm fine, Humphrey, okay?"

"Just asking," he replies, shrugging.

The woman in front of me leaves the line, so I move forward. The second cashier opens up and Dan moves to this one. I order a hot chocolate and a piece of pound cake and move to the side counter to wait for my drink. Dan joins me over here and says something about Serena and Brown. I'm not listening though. I'm too distracted by how weird and strange this is- being civil with Dan, I mean.

He asks, "Don't you think?"

I mumble an affirmative, even though I don't know what he said about my best friend and her choice school.

We receive our orders at the same time, and turn to survey the scene of tables.

We're not.... We're not going to sit together too, are we?

Dan seems to be thinking something along the same lines, because he says, "There's no reason we can't be friends, Blair." I meet his eyes as he continues with, "This doesn't _have_ to be weird."

I think about this for a second.

He's right, this doesn't have to be weird. Maybe we can be friends, and then my appreciation for his presence won't be so questionable. If we're friends and we get along no one would think it would be weird if we hang out, and I'd be able to enjoy my one link to the past- my anchor and my reminder that this _is_ my life.

"Okay," I nod, and follow him to a table in the back. 

And maybe us being friends is great in theory, but when we're actually sitting down across from one another, silent, tense, drinking quietly, I realize how warped this is. All I can think about is the fact that we hate each other. Memories of us looking disdainfully at one another, trading insults- the only memories I have- are flitting around and popping in my brain like loud, relentless fireworks. And then I'm thinking about how I so quickly called him the other night. I didn't even think about it. In my heart, I immediately felt that he was the only one that I wanted to the call- the only one who would make me feel better- and it makes me uncomfortable now. From the way Dan can't look at me, and the way he's stiffly holding his coffee, tells me that he's probably thinking something along the same lines.

I continue to break apart my pound cake, no longer eating it, and start to shake my head.

"What?" Dan says immediately. "What's the matter?"

I press the pound cake between my fingers and flatten it, leaning across the table and fiercely saying, "Don't act like this isn't effing weird, Cabbage Patch."

He looks at me for a minute, and then stares down at the pound cake between my fingers.

"We hate each other," I say. "We've always hated each other-"

"I don't hate you, Blair-"

I cut him off and give him a look, saying, "Don't sugarcoat this because I have amnesia. I _do_ remember you, Humphrey, and I remember that we hated each other."

He sighs, and drums his fingers against his coffee cup. After a moment, he says, "I didn't like you, I'm not going to lie about that- but- I don't know- I feel like things are different."

"You mean because I was in a car accident," I spit at him bitterly.

He doesn't say anything, only stares into my eyes.

"God, Humphrey," I shake my head and scoff. "Just because I remember only you doesn't mean we have to be friends."

"Why'd you call me on Saturday night, then?" he asks suddenly.

And there it is. He brought it up and now we're going to actually talk about it. The subject is on the table, and I can run with it anywhere I want to. Do I tell him to shut up and never bring it up again? Or do I thank him and tell him the truth?

I stare at him for a minute, and then I say, "I was freaking out." As I speak, my voice catches and I feel my cheeks flame. "I'm sorry you're the only person I remember."

He looks pained by this, as if my words are pulling him in every possible direction.

"It's like being in a room full of people- and you feel like you're going to die," my voice breaks and quivers, and I look away from him- at my hands in my lap. "And they're all strangers- though they keep saying you know them. And when you find someone you do know- no matter how much you hate them- you're desperate, and you swallow your pride and ask them for help." I finally look up and meet his eyes, and he looks entirely sympathetic and- to my absolute horror- I have the urge to hug him, to wrap my arms around him and his arms around me. "It's not what I want, Humphrey."

It seems like he's about to say something, but I realize I don't want to hear it- it feels like I'm trapped within my skin and I need to get away.

"I don't want to be late for class," I say suddenly, and I stand.

I dump the rest of my pound cake and my hot chocolate into the garbage, and push my way through the door and into the cold, noonday sun.

As I hurry down the sidewalk, back to Constance and St. Jude's, I hope- for one very fleeting moment- that Dan will follow me. But when he doesn't, I'm pretty sure that I'm grateful. 

* * *

The examination room in Dr. Ryce's office is stark and chilly as I wait for him to arrive. Eleanor sits against the wall that is catty-corner to me, and she looks around the room- her eyes trying to be pleasant, but managing for disapproving. I shiver as I glimpse the city sky through the blinds on the windows, wishing I could be in a hot bath right now- realizing I just want to be anywhere but here. Glancing at Eleanor, I see that she seems just as uncomfortable and awkward as I feel, and for this I'm almost grateful. Outside, phones ring, people talk, and the squeak of wheels slips under the door, but within this room, the only sound comes from the paper on the examination table crinkling as I fidget. It makes the tension in the room increase tenfold.

I'm entirely grateful when the door opens and Dr. Ryce enters, smiling pleasantly with his clipboard and his lab coat.

"Mrs. Waldorf," he says amiably. "Blair, how nice it is to see you."

I just stare at him.

He leans against the counter across from me, pen scratching at the clipboard as he asks, "How are we doing?"

_We_? I'm sure you're fine, but I'm pretty shitty right now.

I just shrug when he looks up at me.

"I'm going to need a little more to go on, Blair," he says, chuckling and glancing at Eleanor.

I stare at him with angry eyes and reply, "I'm not doing so hot."

"I see," he nods. "Well, let's have a quick examination and we'll talk about your progress."

Or lack thereof.

"First, would you like your mother present for the examination or not?"

I have a choice?

Glancing at Eleanor, who looks disturbed by this choice of mine, I swallow a little and say, "I'd rather she wasn't here."

Dr. Ryce nods, "Mrs. Waldorf, the examination won't be long- You can help yourself to some coffee or pastries in the waiting room."

Eleanor looks as if he's just suggested she eat her own toenail clippings. She looks at me for confirmation- as if daring me to repeat that I want her to leave- but I don't look back at her. I stare at my knees instead, pinching the skin at the joint. Finally, with a bitter smile for the doctor, and a harsh glare at me, she clutches her purse to her and leaves.

"Now, Blair, just follow the light," Dr. Ryce says, taking out a little flashlight. As he trails the light back and forth in front of my eyes, he asks, "Have you remembered anything since you were discharged?"

I stare at the little spot of light and tell him, "No."

"But you still recall Mr. Humphrey?"

I stiffen when he says this, and he pulls the flashlight away from my face, as if he can see he's said something that's affected me.

"Yes."

"Did something happen with Mr. Humphrey?" he asks, pausing in his examination.

I'm not going to tell him how Dan is the only person I feel like I can turn to when I'm freaking out- or when I'm sick of being confused and lonely. Nor am I going to tell him that Dan and I tried to be friends but, for a great mess of unfathomable reasons, that's not possible. Also, I'm not going to tell him how I've had the inexplicable urge to be held and comforted by Dan on more than one occasion. I'm not going to tell my _doctor_ that! But I do remember that Dan wanted me to tell him about my dreams and the panic attacks that followed. However, I don't really _want_ to tell him.

I shake my head, "No."

"Is there anything I should know about your condition?" he asks, probing me with his questions.

God, he knows I'm hiding something. How the hell does he know I'm keeping something from him?

With my shoulders slouching slightly, I sigh and say, "I've been having these dreams."

He tilts his head a little, waiting for me to continue.

"I don't know if it's of a memory, but in the dream I'm in a car- I've been in a car accident and it's raining," I pause. "My head hurts and my body's all pressed between the seats- I'm scared out of my mind and I'm crying."

Dr. Ryce nods thoughtfully, "And how many times have you had this dream?"

"Twice."

"And did you wake up from them- as you would normally would wake up from a frightening dream or a nightmare?" he asks.

I nod, thinking about the terror and panic that filled me both of the times I had the dream.

He nods, as if thinking this over.

Before he can ask me another question, I quietly say, "I usually have a panic attack when I wake up from the dream."

Dr. Ryce seems to see me in a new light now.

"I usually end up crying or throwing up," I say weakly- because I hate to reveal these things, but I figure he's a doctor and he's here to help me. And I seriously- _seriously_- want to be helped.

"You threw up?"

I wince, nodding.

"How many times has that happened?" he asks, his voice grave and serious.

Swallowing, I actually manage to tell him the truth- though my gut reaction is to lie- saying, "A few. It's happened without the dream too."

"Did you feel physically nauseous or dizzy or anything before these episodes?"

I shake my head, "No. Just so anxious or suffocated that- I don't know. It just happened."

Dr. Ryce seems to ponder this for a few long seconds, before saying, "Blair, I wonder- has anyone informed you of your psychological history prior to the car accident?"

I stare at him. What's he talking about?

"I thought as much," he says, looking down and rubbing at his chin a little.

What does he mean? What psychological history is he talking about?

"Blair, prior to the accident- and I can't tell you the exact details because I'm not a psychologist and only you could know what you were doing-" he cuts himself off. Then he starts over, "Prior to the accident you were struggling with bulimia."

I stare at him.

Feeling as if my throat is constricting, I blurt, "Excuse me?"

"You were treated for it by a Dr. Sherman from the time you were fourteen to the time you were sixteen," he reads from his file. "How you were coping with this disorder before your amnesia is entirely unknown- unless your mother or one of your friends knows otherwise."

I can't seem to fathom what he's saying.

"The habits of bulimia may still be ingrained in your subconscious- it's obviously your instinctive way of coping with stress," he tells me gently.

Suddenly, I snap at him, "You must be wrong! I do not have- some kind of- I don't have a _disorder_!"

"Blair, I know it's a lot to take in, but I'm just trying to help you understand why your panic or uncomfortable feelings result in vomiting-"

"Shut up!" I shout, and it comes out shrill and high.

He watches me carefully, a little startled.

"I don't have-" I cut myself off, swallow, then finish, "bulimia. There's nothing wrong with me."

"I never said there was anything _wrong_ with you, Blair-"

"Can you just finish this stupid examination so I can go?" I demand bitterly.

He looks down at me sadly, but complies, briefly asking, "You're currently seeing- Dr. Shonberg. Is that correct?"

I nod defensively.

"Well, I think you should mention this to your psychologist," he tells me.

I wave it off, saying, "Fine."

Just shut up and get this examination over with.

* * *


	12. Read my Mind

**Chapter Eleven**  
_New York, New York  
Thursday, February 2  
4:01:57 P.M. EST_

Today Dr. Shonberg is wearing a cranberry-colored turtleneck, cinched at the waist with a black belt, a black skirt with black tights, and black pumps. Somehow, this outfit makes me respect her more. Partly because I approve of it. Also, I think I have those shoes. But her clothes alone won't win me over. I've only just got here, and as I sit down across from her, in the same chair as last time, I resolve to get some answers during this session. I won't leave without learning what I want to know, and I won't tell her anything unless she's honest with me first.

She gives me a friendly smile and says, "So, how's your week so far?"

"I'm bulimic?!" I spit back.

I'm not stunned anymore- just angry that no one told me in the first place.

She only looks a little surprised- and the emotion passes quickly. Taking a sip from the black mug in her hands, she replies with: "Are you?"

"Don't give me that," I snap. "You knew- you must have known, everyone knew."

She doesn't say anything.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I demand, feeling the anger boiling under my skin.

I haven't mentioned the bulimia discovery to anyone all week- though I desperately wanted to shake Serena or my parents and demand to know why they hadn't told me- and now it's finally coming out. It feels good to be talking about- to be letting loose everything I've kept locked up inside me. But at the same time, this territory is scary. Eating disorders and psychological histories- it makes me nervous for some reason- but I'm running into the topics, headlong, without restraint.

"I'm sure it wasn't kept from you on purpose," she says.

I raise an eyebrow, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Blair, I wasn't going to tell you about your history of an eating disorder during our first session," she says. "It's a delicate thing- to tell someone they had an eating disorder when they don't remember it. It's not something you want to necessarily remind them of if you don't have to."

I shake my head, disgusted. "It would have been good for _someone_ to have told me! God, how am I supposed to remember anything when everyone's lying to me?!"

"Lying to you?"

"My parents and my friends kept it from me- it's like they didn't want me to know, so they could keep me from ever having the eating disorder again," I say viciously.

She looks at me dubiously, "Do you really think that's why no one told you?"

"I don't effing know!"

We stare at each other for a good minute, she sizing me up and waiting, and me feeling as if I want to ring someone's neck.

"So how did you find out?" she asks, sipping from her mug again.

This makes me pause. "I had a check up with Dr. Ryce on Monday," I tell her. "I mentioned it to him."

"Mentioned what to him?"

Damnit. I knew this would come up somehow.

Taking a breath and looking away from her, I say, "Well, I've been having these dreams about a car accident- where it's raining and I'm stuck in the back of a cab, feeling hurt and shaken. When I wake up from the dream, I immediately feel anxious and both times I've had a panic attack." A shaky breath escapes my lips. "With the panic, I usually throw up."

Dr. Shonberg takes this in, nodding slightly.

"I mentioned it to Dr. Ryce and he asked me if anyone had told me about my history for bulimia," I tell her, my mouth twisting around the word.

"I see," she replies, looking at me thoughtfully. "So how did you react when he told you this?"

I confess, "I freaked out!" I shake my head, "I mean, _what the hell_?!"

She nods, smiling faintly. "We'll come back to the bulimia aspect," she says. "How was the rest of your week? Has anything changed or happened that's of any importance?"

I'm about to tell her that nothing of any interest happened, but then I remember having lunch with Dan, and talking to him about our relationship and my anxiety. I remember my calling him at four in the morning when I had the panic attack. All the guilt comes to the surface as I think of my one true friend in all of this- Serena- and how I feel as if I'm sneaking around behind her back because I don't want to tell her how much her boyfriend means to me- for reasons I can't even comprehend. But with all the guilt, I'm steadfast in knowing that I don't want to tell her- revolted by anyone even knowing how much Cabbage Patch means to me, when he's been an obvious thorn in my side and a fly in the Upper East Side ointment ever since I shook his hand where ever we were- whenever we first met.

"You remember Dan, right?" I ask, feeling my throat tighten.

"The one person you remember," she says.

I nod, taking a breath. "The second time I had the dream- when I was panicking afterward- I called him."

She waits for me to say more, but I don't. "And what happened?" she asks.

"He calmed me down," it almost sounds as if I'm surprised when I say it.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

I snap, "No! I hate him, I've always hated him!"

She looks at me dubiously, "So?"

"So, what would people think if they knew I was now going to him when I needed help- the one guy I could never stand- instead of my real friends?"

She shrugs, "Who cares what other people think?"

I stare at her as if she's crazy. "I do? Besides, I really don't even like him."

"So why'd you call _him_?"

This stalls me for a minute.

"Because-" I stop myself and think. Throwing dishonesty out of the equation, I say, "Because he's the one person I know- he makes me feel as if this really _is_ my life, instead of just some bad dream."

She nods, "You obviously need him right now- now, when he's the only person you can recognize." She shrugs a little, "Don't push him away just because of what other people might think."

"But I don't like him!"

"You don't?" she asks. "Or are you keeping yourself from liking him because of what you remember- because of what other people expect of you?"

I stare at her, letting this sink in.

Shrugging once more, she says, "I'm not saying you need to share your life with him, Blair- but I do think pushing him away right now will only be bad for you."

* * *

After my session- by ignoring my mother's wishes and walking home instead of taking a car- I find myself in Central Park, breathing in the chilly air and shivering in my coat. I'm thinking about Dr. Shonberg's words, not yet convinced that I should openly be friends with Dan- not all that keen on the idea of disregarding what everyone else thinks. I mean, I may not be familiar with them as my friends and peers, but that _is_ who they are, and I can't consciously forget that. No matter what my psychologist suggests. However, there is another part of me that so desperately wants to welcome Dan into my life with open arms- no matter what I felt for him in the past, and no matter what we once knew of each other. But my good sense tells me to promptly discard this idea- which, of course, I do.

"Blair."

I look up to see someone- Nate, my ex-boyfriend- walking over to me. He's pulling iPod earpieces out of his ears, and he's dressed in sweats, smiling at me carefully.

"Hi.... Nate," I say cautiously, hoping I'm not mistaking him for someone else.

"How are you doing?" he asks, sounding as if he actually cares.

I give him a rueful smile and say, "I'm doing okay. Still not remembering, if that's what you really want to know."

He frowns and says, "I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrug a little.

We stand in the cold for a moment, silent, before the awkwardness sets in. Nate takes this as his cue to speak again.

"Listen, about Sunday- you know, at brunch- when Chuck said-"

I cut him off, "Don't even defend him."

He shakes his head, "I'm not defending him- I don't even _like_ him right now. But, listen, he _was_ my best friend and I know how he thinks."

I stare at him, suddenly annoyed, "And what are you trying to say exactly?"

"All I'm saying is that you guys were kind of together- I know that much- and you remember Dan Humphrey," he says, as if it should all be obvious from there. When I don't take the bait, he elaborates, "Chuck is sensitive enough to take it personally. He probably doesn't get why you didn't remember him."

I stare at him, my mouth open slightly.

"I don't have any control over who I remember-"

He cuts me off, "I know that. But- if it had been Serena, or even me, that you had remembered, it would have been different. We're of importance to you, and Chuck would have been able to understand that."

"And Dan isn't of any importance to me?"

"No," he replies automatically. Then, he stares at me, rethinking this and asking, "He isn't, is he?"

I roll my eyes, "He is now- but only because he's the only one I remember."

Nate nods.

After another beat of silence, he says, "But what he said- about me thinking you're a slut...."

I stiffen at this, staring at him challengingly.

"Look, I did break up with you because I was hurt and I was angry," he tells me, playing with his iPod earpieces. "But, I don't think you're a slut or- anything."

"Because I have amnesia?" I counter.

He stalls, then says, "No-"

"That's why almost everyone is pardoning me, so don't feel bad," I reply tiredly. "I appreciate what you're saying though."

He shakes his head, "Blair, I never thought that about you- even when you had your memory and I broke up with you. I was angry that you would sleep with my best friend, but- I could never think that about you." He tries to give me a little smile, but frowns and says, "Especially after what I did to you."

I know what he means. He's talking about sleeping with Serena when we were dating.

I give him a warm smile, "Thank you, Nate."

He nods, smiling too. "I'm glad you're okay- aside from the amnesia, that is."

"Thanks."

"And I know it's hard for you- what you're going through," he says, a little awkwardly. "But if you ever need anyone to talk to or a friend, I'm here for you."

I can't help it, I step forward and put my arms around him, pulling him into a hug before I can convince myself otherwise. He's taken by surprise for a moment, but it doesn't take him long to hug me back. I've needed another friend- some more reassurance and kindness- and Nate's sweet gesture is greatly appreciate.

When I pull away from him, my eyes are burning a little and I blink a few times, saying, "Thank you. I need a friend now."

He nods, smiling at the vulnerability I'm displaying, saying, "No problem."

After another beat of silence, I say, "Well, I should probably get home, but I'll see you later?"

He nods, waves as we part ways, and starts to jog down the trail away from me.

I'm feeling marginally better as I make my way out of the other side of the park and start towards home. But a hundred friends- even ones like Nate and Serena- couldn't alleviate the Dan problem right now- do I want to risk it and be _his_ friend too?

Or not?

* * *


	13. Back at Your Door

**Author's Note:** Because I haven't updated this since March, this chapter is a little on the long-ish side. Let me just warn you guys now also, this chapter is very anti-Chuck. Like, he's an ass hole in this chapter. Don't review me to let me know he would never do such and such, because this story takes place after 'The Thin Line Between Chuck and Nate' when he basically said Blair was a used horse- yeah, that time. Besides, he's got a whole slew of problems of his own going on so don't bash me for making him a jerk. That's my disclaimer. And now, chapter twelve, which is dedicated to **Cool Hwip**, who has been recently supportive of my stories and determined to see this chapter up. Here you go! Hope you guys like it!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**  
_New York, New York  
Saturday, February 4  
1:02:46 P.M. EST  
_  
"What do you think of this one?"

Eleanor steps out from behind the screen in the private dressing room, dressed in a tasteful, black cocktail dress. She checks out her reflection in the mirror in the wall across from her, smoothing out the sides and the lap of the skirt. The dress is one-of-a-kind, designer-made, expensive and beautiful. The material it's made out of is shimmery, thick, stitched perfectly and ruched impeccably. But this dress is probably the tenth black cocktail dress she's tried on in the last half hour, and I'm feeling so claustrophobic in this dressing room, holding her discards and 'maybes' that I just want to grab the dress off of her and buy it myself, if only I would be allowed to leave after doing it.

She turns to me expectantly, waiting for an answer. Snapping back to my duties, I say, "It's beautiful."

Turning to her reflection again, she pushes the hair away from her face and swipes at the lap again, mumbling, "I'm not sure."

I can't help but roll my eyes.

Turning again, still looking in the mirror, she thinks for a moment. Then, she's suddenly turning and going back behind the screen, saying, "I think I'll try the next one."

I slump backward in my seat and stare at the black and white photography decorating the wall across from me. The claustrophobia is becoming too much and I'm beginning to feel like I want to jump out of my skin. I don't know what it is. I mean, when Eleanor suggested we spend some time together and go shopping this morning, I had been opposed to it. But then I figured we would be mainly shopping for me, and that I would get some new clothes out of it and I agreed. Somehow though, I couldn't get in the right mood to shop for myself, and we ended up finding some new things for Eleanor instead.

Swallowing against my closing throat, I suddenly need to get out of here- need to get away from Eleanor and our 'mother-daughter bonding.' I need to do anything else but sit here- need to be anywhere else but in this boutique right now, with a woman I'm sure I've never really known.

"Ele- I mean- uh- Mom?" I call.

"Yes?" she asks. "What is it?"

I take the two piles of clothing in my hands, hooking them onto the clothing rail set in the wall, keeping them in their separate arrangements, saying, "I just remembered that I have plans with Serena- I was supposed to meet her five minutes ago."

"Plans to do what?" she asks, and I hear her zipping something behind the screen.

I grasp at straws, saying, "Plans to get our nails done with the girls, then go back to Serena's and watch a movie or something- then we were going to go out to dinner."

This is a complete lie, because I know for a fact that Serena is visiting her paternal grandparents in Connecticut this weekend. But I'm sure Eleanor doesn't know that. I'm sure the faux plans I've created sound exactly like the kind of thing I used to do with my friends- the kind of thing Eleanor will just eat up because she wants me back to normal. And yes, I know it's kind of selfish to let her think everything's going back to normal, but this feeling- that the walls are closing in on me and that I'm about to rip my own skin off of my body just to get out- is not something you can stand to be selfless for.

"That sounds like fun!" Eleanor says enthusiastically, just as I thought she would. "Just let me get changed and I'll ride with you over there-"

"No!" I say suddenly, because the idea of Eleanor ruining a possible day to myself makes me want to scream from the injustice. "I mean- Really, Mom, why can't you just trust me to take a car by myself?"

She comes out from behind the screen, dressed in a new black dress, and she looks at me sternly. "Blair, I'm your mother, I'm allowed to be worried."

"Would you have let me go to Serena's without an escort _before_ the accident?" I retort.

This makes her look at me, as if I've just shaken some sense into her- sense she doesn't necessarily like, but still. Sighing after a long moment, she gives in, saying, "Fine, but I want you to call me when you get there, and I want you to check in throughout the day."

I nod, my heart lifting at the idea that I can just be free today, and I say, "I can do that."

She nods confidently, "All right then, go."

I find myself leaning in forward and kissing her on the cheek. When I pull back, I say, "Thanks!" and leave the dressing room.

As I make my way through the boutique, towards the front door, I try to place the familiar scent I inhaled when I pulled away from Eleanor- Chanel perfume and foreign shampoo. But, where do I know that scent? I'm sure I've smelled it before today, but I can't place it. It's lost among the fog in my brain- too far deep for me to retrieve it. So I leave it be, but I can't help ignoring the fleeting question- am I remembering the scent of my mother?

I shake my head clear of any errant thoughts as I push the door open and make my way into the bright, wintry afternoon. Everything outside is clean, shining from the freshly fallen- but now melting- snow, and I pull my sunglasses from my bag, sliding them up the bridge of my nose as I begin walking down the sidewalk. Now that I'm out of the suffocating and perfume-drenched atmosphere of the boutique, I take a deep breath and feel myself relaxing. I don't have amnesia. I don't have anyone in my life that I don't remember or events that I can't recall. I'm just Blair, walking down the street. That's it. No complications that I can't even begin to work my way through. Just Blair.

And then something breaks into my peace.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Head Case."

The voice- drawling, slick with smug, self-satisfaction- stops me in my tracks. I turn and see Chuck, leaning toward me through the window of a limo parked along the sidewalk. He's smirking at me cockily, as if he has complete control over me, and it makes me inexplicably angry. I can't believe I ever had sex with this guy, because every time I see him he makes my blood boil- and not in a hot-and-bothered way, but in an I-want-to-strangle-you-with-your-own-scarf kind of way.

"Good-bye Chuck," I say, forcing myself to walk away, instead of lunging at him through the open window.

"See," he calls, stopping me again, "you do remember me."

I wheel around and stride up to the limo, losing my patience in half of a nanosecond, snapping at him and saying, "Do you really think I would lie if I remembered something?"

He shrugs lazily, looking unperturbed. "I think you're having fun with being the center of attention- as always."

"And you honestly think I'd fake a severe case of amnesia- _just_ for attention?" I don't wait for him to respond. Instead, I barrel on and ask, "Do you really think I'm that kind of person?"

His smirk deepens- he seems to like my outburst- and he retorts, "Aren't you?" raising his eyebrows jauntily.

This steels me in my place, and my heart starts pounding in my chest. This isn't fair- he's playing against my weaknesses. I can't remember if I used to be the kind of girl who would fake an injury- psychological or otherwise- for attention. I swallow, resolute in my decision to keep quiet and stand my ground.

Licking his lips, and looking as if I keep amusing him more and more, he says, "Maybe you're not the kind of girl who would do it for attention, but you _are_ the kind of girl who would use it as a way to get out of her own social apocalypse."

I swallow past the lump that has risen in my throat. My voice shakes- to my own disgust- as I reply, "I was in a _car_ _accident_." Shaking my head, I then say, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

He looks only marginally affected by this question, but it's something.

Suddenly, Nate's words from Thursday begin to ring in my brain- reminding me of what he said about Chuck's foul attitude problem.

_Chuck is sensitive enough to take it personally. He probably doesn't get why you didn't remember_ him_._

It looks like he's about to make another snide remark to add to his last statement, but I cut him off, saying, "Could your problem with me have anything to do with the fact that I remember Dan Humphrey and not you?"

At first he looks at little surprised that I've said this, and then he curls his lip at me, annoyed. "I think it has more to do with the fact that I refuse to believe the shit you're doling out and playing up."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Daddy comes running over from France, Mommy's obsessed with you again-just like your barfing days- and all the girls from school come running back to you- their wounded heroine." He gives a short laugh, then says, "I'm not buying it."

His words are hollow now- because I know Nate's guess really hit the nail on the head- but they still leave me shaken.

Looking at him with one last withering glare, I say, "You're a sad person, Chuck. Good-bye."

This time, I don't stop when he mockingly calls my name again, I keep walking, my footfalls fast and hard against the sidewalk underneath.

Was I the type of person who would fake a case of amnesia for my parents' attention- to get my social status back? Was that why I was- _am?_- bulimic? For attention? For the people around me to focus solely on me? Was I selfish, destructive, greedy, and thoughtless- all for attention? Could it be possible? The idea makes me sick, and I swallow hard again, walking blindly down the sidewalk on my own. Chuck has shaken up my whole world, and it's leaving me dizzy. Before I wasn't sure about everyone else around me and how they factored into my life- except Dan, anyway. But- but now I'm not even sure who _I_ was anymore. I'm not sure if I was the same person I am now, or if the amnesia changed me, and it scares me.

Suddenly, I don't want a day to be alone, but I don't want to spend the day with people I have to pretend to remember either. And because I know I made my decision days ago, I have no problem allowing my feet to carry me to the street, where I hail a cab, Brooklyn bound.

* * *

When Dan opens the door and sees that it's me who's knocking, he looks surprise.

That's putting it mildly actually, because he looks completely shocked.

"Blair," he says, his eyes a little wide and his brows raised.

I give him a regrettably awkward smile, trying to keep my facade as cool and undented as I can when I say, "Well, Humphrey, you didn't exactly say you didn't _want_ to be friends."

It comes out shakier than I want it to, and I'm sure he can tell something's bothering me. Either way he stares at me for a moment, as if I've just spoken to him in a language other than English.

"I probably should have called first," I say, and I'm suddenly regretting even coming here, backtracking as the embarrassment seeps under my skin, feeling my neck and face going warm. "It's just, I was out and Chuck stopped me and-"

"Chuck?" Dan echoes.

I nod.

He sighs, "I don't suppose he stopped you to apologize to you for what happened on Sunday."

"How did you know about that?" I instantly ask.

Looking a little uncomfortable, he says, "Serena told me."

I nod again, saying, "Oh." Then, "No, he wasn't apologizing- he was criticizing me and he said some things-" I cut myself off as Chuck's words echo in my ears.

_Daddy comes running over from France, Mommy's obsessed with you again-just like your barfing days- and all the girls from school come running back to you- their wounded heroine._

All pretenses gone- my facade cracked and tarnished- I swallow and say, "I'm sorry." I turn to go, "This was stupid-"

"Blair, wait," Dan calls, making me stop and face him again. "Come inside- Jenny's at my mom's for the weekend and my dad'll be at the gallery setting up for a show until later tonight- we can talk if you want, or just hang out."

A wonderful sense of relief whooshes through me, and I'm suddenly aware of how grateful I am that I have Dan- which, I know, is weird, considering how we used to feel about each other, but I don't care. Relief is still relief, and I'm going to soak it up as much as possible.

I follow Dan into the loft, and as I make my way inside I look around, an onslaught of memories coming at me all at once, making me breathless for a moment.

When Dan reaches the kitchen he turns and sees that I've stopped in my tracks, looking around in awe and surprise.

"You okay?" he asks, stepping toward me hesitantly.

I manage a nod. After looking around for a moment more, composing myself and breathing, I finally look at him and say, "I remember this."

He looks surprised when I say this, replying with, "You do?"

I nod again. "I've been here- I mean, I knew the address but I didn't think I'd remember...."

"Do you want to sit down?" Dan asks, as if afraid my awe is going to make me faint- which, I'm not actually positive it won't. These crystal clear memories are making me feel a little weak-kneed.

I ignore him though, walking further- towards him in the kitchen- and looking at everything as I move.

"Thanksgiving," I find myself saying. "I was here for Thanksgiving- with you."

Dan nods, looking nervous about how to approach this. "Yeah, Serena brought you here."

The memories that are so crystal clear don't involve Serena- or anyone else for that matter- just Dan and me. I shake my head, "I don't see her."

He looks a little deflated when I say this, and he echoes, "You don't?"

"No." I squint at a couple of doors across the way- bedrooms, I know. "And Cedric."

This actually makes Dan laugh, and he says, "Of course you remember Cedric- he _is_ hard to forget."

"This is so weird," I say, my voice a little awed. "Don't you think this is weird?"

He shrugs, smirking a little. "Blair, you and I are past weird, don't you think?"

Thinking about the circumstances- that I only remember him, that we should be getting along so well now- makes me smile a little and I nod. "You're right."

"Come in," he urges, leading me to the island counter in the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink? Tea, coffee?"

"Tea," I reply. "Thanks."

Sitting down on a stool at the island counter, I watch him warily as he sets about making us tea, looking so unfazed and comfortable.

"How can you be so normal about all of this?" I find myself asking as he puts a kettle on the stove to boil.

He turns to me and shakes his head, as if he isn't sure himself, and he says, "Once the initial shock- of you just remembering _me_- wore off, nothing else could really surprise me." He shrugs again, "You calling me at four in the morning, coming over to my house for tea? I'm just taking it all in a stride."

Against my will again, I'm embarrassed, and I wring my hands under the counter in my lap.

"Blair, I really don't mind," he tells me, his voice low and genuine as he leans on the counter to say this.

I find myself smiling, my eyes warming over with grateful tears that I blink back as I ask, "Why are you being so nice to me? I've never given you any reason to."

"We're not exactly in a position that I could refuse you, Blair," he says. "Besides, ever since the accident you haven't done anything except apologize or ask for my help- I have no reason to _deny_ you."

I stare at him wordlessly, feeling the burning behind my eyes growing even hotter.

"Besides, despite what you may think, I don't hate you, Blair," he tells me, smiling a little.

I smile too- gratefully- and look down at my hands.

Moving to retrieve a box of tea bags from a cabinet, Dan asks, "So what happened with Chuck?"

The nausea comes on without my being able to stop it, and I press my lips together, swallowing hard.

He looks at me and I manage to say, "He just said some stuff...."

"You gonna elaborate?"

I roll my eyes, picking at the countertop now, saying, "He won't stop with his theory that I'm just pretending to have amnesia for attention."

Sighing- as if disgusted- Dan says, "Chuck Bass is an ass hole."

I don't disagree with him.

"He- He said I'm the type of person who would fake amnesia to get out of my own social.... apocalypse," I find myself confessing, looking up with desperate and searching eyes. "Is that true?"

This makes Dan stop and look at me, asking, "Is what true? That you're using this to become Queen B again?"

"No," I shake my head. "Was I the type of person who would do that? Fake something this serious to get attention and fix social problems?"

He stares at me, looking as if he's at a loss for words.

Clenching my jaw for a minute, I continue, saying, "I remember you, Dan, and I remember me _with_ you, but I don't know if I know who I am alone...." The tears are blurring my vision now. "That's why I came here- I need you to tell me who I was."

"Blair, I don't- I don't know if I'm the right person to tell you that," he says.

"You're the only one I know," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Cabbage Patch or not, I need your help."

He puts the heels of his hands on the counter, thinking for a moment, before saying, "But, I didn't know you all that well, Blair." He shakes his head, "I don't know who you were- I'm not _capable_ of telling you that."

This leaves me feeling deflated, and I sigh, nodding and looking down anxiously.

"But you weren't going to fake amnesia to get your social life back," he says, making me look up. "If you were you wouldn't be here right now."

I knot my eyebrows together, confused.

"You were on your way home from going to the airport when you were in the accident," he says. "Serena told me that you were going to stay and fight, not make up some ridiculous story to get everyone paying attention to you."

I stare at him, and then ask, "And you believe that- that I would fight for myself, instead of pretending to forget?"

"If you were half the Blair Waldorf that I knew? Then yes, I sure as hell believe you were going to fight."

Somehow, his words make me feel as if a huge ton as been lifted off of my chest, and once again, Dan Humphrey has saved me from a would-be crisis.

"Does that answer your question about who you were?" he asks.

I tilt my head a little and say, "It's a start."

* * *


	14. Letters from the Sky

**Chapter Thirteen**  
_New York, New York  
Sunday, February 5  
8:34:45 A.M. EST  
_  
When I wake up on Sunday morning I lay in bed for a long time. Something makes me stay where I am, staring up at the ceiling or out the window in intervals, my thoughts thick and mottled. I think of random movies scenes, of places in the city I can't fully remember visiting, and I think of memories with Dan. I keep seeing him in a white hallway, listening to him talk about his mother and problems he had with her. Like a feature film on repeat, I keep seeing this scene over and over, recalling the latent appreciation I felt for him that day, and allowing that same feeling to blossom in me now, thinking of his reassurances last night.

"What's it like?" he asked me the night before, when we were still around the island in his kitchen at around eleven.

I sipped from my fifth cup of tea and asked, "What's what like?"

"Amnesia," he prompted, leaning against the island, directly across from me.

I looked away from his muddy, brown eyes, one of my hands wrapped around the warm mug, the other moving to my mouth so I could bite on my thumb nail. Could I describe it? Did I want to? Thinking about it for a moment, I licked my lips faintly and considered my words.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't-"

"No," I cut him off. "It's fine- I'm just thinking about how to say it."

He nodded, and then relaxed himself to wait.

Finally, I looked at him- square in the eye, because it was surprisingly easy for me- and I said, "It's like when you know you've forgotten something- like the name of a song or an actor in a movie or something- and you just can't grasp it." He looked back at me, sympathy filling up his eyes, and I continued. "You just try and try- repeat the alphabet to yourself and try to think out different things- but it's like there's this wall that you just can't get past and it's frustrating."

He frowned.

"Sometimes it's like my thoughts are all hidden in this fog and if I try hard enough I'll be able to find some things, but no matter how hard I look, the fog doesn't thin out." I shrug.

He swallowed, then, quietly, said, "That's rough."

I nodded, then managed to smile, ruefully saying, "Yeah, but no matter where I go in that fog I do manage to remember things about _you_."

He smiled a little too, rolling his eyes faintly and saying, "Which must thrill you."

"It's better than nothing," I told him honestly.

He met my eyes very seriously then, and nodded slowly.

"Why do you remember me, do you think?" he asked.

I shrugged, staring down into my tea. "Who knows?"

"Well, I'm glad I could be of service," he said lightly. "And I hope that when you do get your memory back, you'll hate me a little less."

I genuinely smiled at this, saying, "We'll see, Cabbage Patch," to which he smiled.

But who knows if I will get my memory back. Who knows if I'll remember who I was before the accident- what my life was like aside from my memories with Dan.

And suddenly, I'm gripped by an encompassing anxiety- one that stems from the idea that I won't ever get my memory back, that my whole life will consist of moving onward from the point where I lost who I was. Will I live my life not knowing who I really was, or who I really am? I can't bear to think of going on forever through this fog- running into that wall every time I want to conjure up a memory from my past that doesn't involve Dan. Thinking about this possibility makes my throat constrict and my stomach clench sickeningly.

With a solid resolution, I throw back the covers of my bed and get up, hurrying over to the door, opening it, and calling out, "Dorota!"

* * *

"You keep all pictures in here," the maid tells me. "In albums on the iPhoto."

I nod, saying, "Okay, what else?"

"There are few slideshows too- with music- that you make," she tells me.

"Do I have a memory box or something?" I ask further, turning from my computer desk to survey the rest of the room. "Like a chest with mementos in it or something."

She looks like she wants to say something, but she holds back for some reason.

I find myself sounding almost threatening as I say, "Dorota."

"I not supposed to know, Miss Blair," she says quietly, slowly.

"Spill."

Looking regretful, she walks over to my bed and kneels down, pulling out a long storage box. Then, she reaches behind the mattress- between it and the bed frame- and pulls out a leather-bound notebook.

"This all I know about," she tells me, handing over the notebook.

I nod and take it, looking at the intricate golden, border around the outside of the notebook.

"Thank you, Dorota," I say, not looking up from the book.

She nods, and then quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

There are boxes and boxes of things I don't understand. A Yale sweatshirt, a flattened penny, laminated ticket stubs, a bottle cap, a plain, white rock, pieces of material, a dried flower, dozens of little items that hold significant meaning to a girl that I no longer am. Pictures with faces that, as far as I'm concerned, I never knew- faces of people I only just met recently. I see photographs of parties I've been to, days I've spent in the park with Serena and Nate, outings with Harold, exhibits with Eleanor. But none of them _mean_ anything, and it depresses me even more.

Hoping the notebook will make more sense, I crack it open and find that's it a diary. The dates are erratic, entries scattered across months, and the writing is dark, hard, as if I was either very angry, sad, or excited when I wrote in it.

Greedily, I read.

_September 14_

_She slept with him. She fucking slept with him. That's why the grotty little bitch left New York and didn't say a single word to me. She betrayed me and she slept with him. Well, that's fine, because she'll get what's coming to her.  
_  
I stare down at the words, surprised. Jesus, I was angry, but- then again- I can understand why. This must be about Serena, and how she slept with Nate. And it's easier to forgive her when she told me herself, her voice regretful and scared in my bedroom, but in this diary- I can feel the anger flare up under my skin. If I hadn't found out, would she have ever told me?

_November 10_

_I'm no longer a virgin...... I had sex with Chuck. In the back of his limo. I feel dirty. It was- WHAT DID I DO?!_

This actually makes me laugh out loud, and I skip forward.

I read all that's in the diary, piecing together parts of myself. And while I have _some_ insight into who I was and how I got to where I am, it's not a full account of every day and all of my feelings, so it leaves gaping holes in the form of weeks and months, and some of it leaves me even more confused than before. And with that further confusion, I'm even more determined to really learn who Blair Waldorf was prior to the fog and the wall. And I know I can't go at it alone.

So, without hesitation, I pick up the phone and call a number that is becoming frighteningly familiar.

"Cabbage Patch," I say when he answers. "I need your help."

* * *


	15. Hear You Me

**Author's Note:** Sorry that it's been forever between updates. School has been crazy and I've had to focus on applying to colleges (got into my number one school!) and I've also got a very time-consuming job now. Also, I'm not too happy about this cracktastic season of Gossip Girl, but here is chapter fourteen regardless. Enjoy!  
**  
Chapter Fourteen**_  
New York, New York  
Monday, February 6  
6:37:12 A.M. EST_

"This is really unnecessary," Dan says on Monday morning, when I pick him up in a town car nearly an hour and a half before school even starts. As he slides into the back with me I shove a thermos and a paper bag at him. "What's this?" he asks, taking both tentatively, looking at me.

I smile. "Sustenance."

He glances at the bag and the thermos dubiously.

"I figured if I was dragging you out so early I might as well feed you," I tell him. "So I had Dorota make breakfast. It's fresh coffee and a homemade Danish."

He looks incredulously from me to the objects in his hand again.

"You're welcome," I prompt.

Finally cracking a smile, he says, "Thanks," and takes a long pull from the coffee, wincing as it burns his mouth and throat. As we pull away from the curb, he asks, "So, what are we doing anyway?"

"Well, I thought we would start by chipping at the memories I _do_ have," I say enthusiastically. "I'm sure if you can fill in the blanks and nudge me in the right direction everything can fall into place."

After swallowing another mouthful of coffee, Dan looks at me skeptically. "Blair," he says carefully, and I instantly sit back, annoyed, well aware of the fact that I won't like whatever's going to come out of his mouth next. "I stayed up last night reading up on amnesia- you know, getting a hold of all this- and I don't think my explaining the entirety of your memories will make you _actually_ remember."

"You _read up_ on it, did you?" I counter. "Well, I _have_ it, and I'm telling you that it's what I want to do."

"Blair-"

I cut him off, saying, "You agreed to help me. I didn't ask for criticism on top of it."

He sighs. "Fine."

Normally I wouldn't need to explain myself to Dan Humphrey, but the way he says 'fine' and looks down at his coffee cup- like he feels bad for me and is resigning himself to my wants because of that- makes me feel like I need to justify what I want to do. That's why I find myself saying, "It's just a start, Humphrey. If it doesn't work we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Meeting my eyes again, he softens and smiles tiredly, saying, "Okay Waldorf, where do you want to start?"

"When we met," I tell him. "I remember I walked up to you in a white dress, introduced myself and then you asked me if I knew where Serena was."

He pauses in raising his coffee cup to his lips and looks blindly at it, like he's distracted.

"I told you she was in a hotel room waiting for my boyfriend and this whole conversation happens that I only have two sides of," I explain to him. "So, go.'

"Go?" he echoes. "You want me to explain the conversation?"

I shake my head. "The whole day- as much as you can."

He sighs before saying, "It was brunch at The Palace. Serena invited me because her mom was forcing her to go."

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Serena disappeared to go to the bathroom and when I didn't see her for awhile I milled around by myself for a little bit," he says. "Then you showed up and introduced yourself and I asked you if you knew where Serena was."

"Dan," I say impatiently. "The parts I don't know?"

He gives me a look that makes me roll my eyes. Continuing, he says, "Then Serena and Nate came into the dining room and cut you off. I think I asked Serena where she had been and you said she was waiting in a hotel room for your boyfriend, Nate."

I take all of this in, piecing together the conversation, unable to see it like I can see him and me in the memory, but still trying.

"What else?" I prompt.

"She said she had just been there to talk and Nate cut in and then Chuck showed up and...." he trails off.

I stare at him, waiting, and when he doesn't continue, I say, "And?"

"Blair, can we not talk about this?" he asks. "That day really sucked for me and I'd rather-"

"Dan! You said you'd help me!"

He retorts, "Yeah but I didn't think that would involve me reliving my shitty outsider days on the Upper East Side."

"Dan, please."

He shakes his head, clearly annoyed, and gives in. "Chuck revealed that Serena had slept with Nate- something that you had been trying to tell me in order to hurt Serena, I later found out- and then Chuck started in about Jenny and I pushed him and he knocked over a waiter and I left."

I laugh out loud at this and say, "Now that part I didn't remember!"

His lips turn up in an almost-smile and he rolls his eyes. "Is this helping at all?"

I put the things that he's just told me into the memory, but it's like having pieces missing from a puzzle and filling them up with paper cut outs. Maybe it's filled up but it doesn't look right- it's not the real thing.

Sitting back, I sigh.

"I'll let you know."

* * *

The town car pulls up at school on time and Dan and I both get out. We've talked over as much as we can in the time frame of an hour, but I don't actually remember anything. Maybe my memories aren't so hacked up anymore, but the fog still hangs over the reality of everything. It's discouraging, to say the least, but I won't give up. And I won't admit that Dan could be right- that this won't do anything to help me get my memory back.

"Blair," someone says, sounding cautious. "Dan." Suddenly surprised.

Dan and I turn in synchrony, and we see Serena walking toward us- glowing, flowing-haired, perfectly-skirted, prep school tie under her leather jacket, Serena. And the things that I've learned from the memories- what Dan's told me about his past with Serena and what he was able to tell me about _my_ past relationship with her- makes it hard for me to feel as open and amiable as I've felt towards her since I woke up and saw her in my hospital room. I'm very aware of the fact that I suddenly feel defensive and careful- a painful flash of inadequacy and intimidation. Also, I realize how it must look- Dan and I getting out of a town car together- and I almost want to laugh out loud. I wonder how it would make her feel if Dan and I had slept together. Kind of like she got a taste of her own medecine? But then I see the hurt and confused look on her face, and I'm surprised at how malicious my thoughts turned and how quickly.

"What's up?" she asks, taking Dan's hand and looking between us, concerned.

Before Dan tells her the truth- which I want to keep to myself for some reason- I say, "I saw Cabbage Patch walking to school and I offered him a lift."

"Dorota said you had already left when I came to get you," she says, still sounding apprehensive. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I forgot we walk together and I had a car- I'm sorry," I say to her- the amnesia excuse again- and I'm surprised at how believable I sound.

She looks at Dan and then back to me, saying, "But you hate Dan."

"I _remember_ Dan," I counter. "Things are different now."

Suddenly, she isn't only confused and wary, she's downright crestfallen. But instead of feeling sorry or pleased with myself or any one emotion, I just want to be away- from her, from Dan, from everyone. So I lie again, saying, "I have to meet Mr. Kirkpatrick for some make up work, so I'll see you guys later," and hurry into the courtyard before they follow me.

And as I ascend the front steps and enter the building, the guilt seeps under my skin, mottled with a relieving sense of control, and a sickening hit of nausea.

The bathroom is empty when I reach it, and I'm thankful, because I'm sure I'm going to be sick.

* * *

"What the hell was that?"

"Elaborate, Humphrey?"

Dan is leaning over me in the library during my study hall period. He looks angry, his hands planted on the table, his jaw set hard, his eyes bearing down into mine like heavy, pressing stones.

Without delay, he says, "What the hell was that this morning with Serena? Why did you make her feel like shit?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, because I can taste the bile in my throat from when I threw up afterword, and I look down at my textbook.

I jump when Dan slams it shut under my face and gets closer to me, saying, "Don't play games with me."

Glaring at him, my eyes fully facing his, I say, "I don't know, okay? It just happened."

"Did you ask me to help you, knowing you would be lying to Serena about it?" he counters.

"I don't know!" I hiss.

He shakes his head. "Do you expect _me_ to keep this a secret from her?" I don't answer him right away. "Well, do you?"

"Dan, if she knows she'll want to help and it's nothing personal against her, but I don't remember her and I don't want her involved," I tell him honestly. "I don't want to hurt her by having her know and not involving her either."

Dan stares at me for a long moment, before relaxing the tiniest bit.

"What happened this morning was unnecessary," he says, his voice gravelly.

He's telling _me_?

"I won't help you if you're going to treat her that way," he says, his voice fierce.

"Okay," I say, as if I got that already, because I know Dan could drop me at any moment- that he could really refuse to help me if I don't follow the rules of his moral compass- and it fucking sucks.

Without another word, he backs away from me and my table and exits the library.

And for some reason, I feel like something has been reversed- like someone was once coercing me into being nice to Dan, and now everything has flipped completely- and the feeling is really, really disconcerting.

* * *

After school, Nate calls me. He has to get a birthday gift for his grandmother and he asks me if I want to come along. I'd rather not stay home and feel guilty and confused and anxious- which is exactly how I've been feeling all day- and Eleanor is positively elated by the idea of my hanging out with Nate, so I agree and he picks me up on his way to Barney's.

"So, how are you?" he asks, right after we've finally unlatched ourselves from Eleanor and Harold and are alone in the elevator.

Sighing, I honestly say, "Tired."

"I'm sorry, did you want to-"

"No, I need to get out of that penthouse," I stop him. "It's fine."

He nods to himself and shoves his hands into his pockets. As the doors of the elevator open onto the lobby, he asks, "Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about anything?"

I consider complaining about how unexplicably shitty I feel, but I don't. Instead, I shake my head and say, "Thanks, but no- I'm fine."

Thankfully, he doesn't press the subject, and we both slide into the back of a waiting towncar, amiable and silent.

It's not until we're at Barney's- the familiar, bright department store easing me into comfort- that either of us breaks the silence.

"What were you thinking of getting your grandmother?" I ask, just as we make our way to the accesories department.

He frowns. "I'm not actually sure. That's kind of why I invited you."

Looking over at me, he smiles sheepishly.

"Huh," I say, smiling back. "Well, we'll see what we can do."

We begin walking among the handbags and gloves, both of us looking over our options silently. As I go, I inhale the smell of leather and new merchandise, and I start to let the tension drain from my body- allow myself to forget about how my day unfolded and focus on the task at hand. And with optimism pushing me forward, I approach a table full of scarves and start thumbing through them. Because this is something I'm good at- shopping. This I know for sure.

"What about this?"

I turn and see that Nate is holding up a pair of canary yellow gloves, trimmed in faux black fur in one hand, matching ear-muffs in another. For a moment I wait for him to laugh- to indicate that he's joking- but he doesn't, and I laugh out loud at the seriousness in his eyes.

He glances down at the objects in hand, saying, "What?"

"Oh, Nate," I say, and take the gloves and earmuffs from his hands, placing them at the edge of the scarf table- as if he'll harm himself if he gets too close to them again.

"Not worthy?" he asks, a smile lilting his voice.

I look over at him with an amused smile on my lips, before I turn and look through the scarves some more.

After a long moment, he leans against the table and says, "Huh."

"Huh, what?" I question, not looking up as I pick up a silken cranberry scarf with golden link patterns on it.

"It's just so weird," he replies, as I'm holding the scarf up, examining it. "I know you don't remember- and sometimes it's obvious that you have amnesia- but then other times there are these moments when you're just so _Blair_ and it's hard to remind myself that everything isn't the same."

This makes me look up and meet his eyes, and I frown.

He looks away from me briefly, before meeting my eyes again. "I don't know if that's a bad thing to say or-"

"No," I cut him off. "It's fine- it's.... encouraging."

We're silent for a minute, neither of us sure what to say next.

I offer him the scarf, then say, "And maybe flowers."

He nods and takes it.

"You know," I say, as we're making our way past a Chanel display. "Sometimes I feel like I'm Blair- like I'm the Blair I don't remember- but it's like deja vu and it's hard to pinpoint it."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "I usually don't even know I feel that way until after the fact." Shaking my head and shrugging, I say, "I didn't even realize it was true until just now."

"When do you feel that way?" he asks. "Is it only at certain times?"

I pause, thinking of today, when I snapped at Serena before school, when I had this flash feeling of control and satisfaction. That was from a foreign-familiar place.

"Usually when I'm caught up in something- in feeling and doing and acting," I gush, finding Nate's caramel-colored hair and emerald green eyes so inviting and welcoming that I can't help but let the words just go.

He considers this and then says, "Caught up in something good? Or something bad?"

I shake my head. "Both, I guess."

"So," he begins. "Do you think part of the amnesia could just be conscious- like you might be able to control some of it?"

"Honestly, I don't know," I tell him.

And it's true, because right now, I can't be sure of anything involving my own brain.

* * *

The same night, I have a dream about the accident again. In the dream, someone's calling out to me- through warped metal and pounding rain. _Can you hear me?_ they're saying. _Can you hear me?_ I cry out- the sound so mangled and pathetic that the tears course out of my eyes even more quickly, hot and thick. _We're gonna get you out._ And I just want it to end. I want surrounding blackness. I want my bed. I want to be enveloped in the party scene in _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. I want to stuff my face and not throw up. I want to have someone wrap there arms around me- someone that cares- so I can be encircled in warmth and bury my face in a familiar, comforting scent. Instead, I'm soaking wet from the rain, shivering violently, bleeding, bent painfully, falling apart. I thought my life was ending before- I don't know why, but I did- and now I'm aware that that was nothing, that this could very well be the real thing.

Swirling red and blue lights ricochet off the sheets of rain- purple- making me dizzy.

My head is pounding and I can taste blood in my mouth, coppery and bitter.

_Can you still hear me?_

Barely.


	16. Sometime Around Midnight

**Author's Note:** In celebrating the fact that I met Penn Badgley and Leighton Meester today (cough cough, brag brag) here is a new chapter! Thank you for being so patient between updates- Enjoy!

**Chapter Fifteen**_  
New York, New York  
Thursday, March 6  
4:23:36 P.M. EST._

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Blair."

I sigh in exasperation and roll my eyes, demanding to know: "Why?"

"Because," Dr. Shonberg explains, "you might be setting yourself up for disappointment." I frown at this, but she continues speaking before I can say anything in protest. "If amnesia could be cured by someone just explaining everything to the amnesiac, it would be a lot simpler than it actually is. So, don't invest too much in this."

Suddenly, I'm fully aware of why I waited so long to reveal this to Dr. Shonberg. Folding my arms over my chest, I say, "Do you have any better ideas then?"

"I think it's a good start that you're hanging out with Dan," she says.

"W-What?" I sputter. "I'm not _hanging out with him_- I'm using him."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why don't you just hang out with him- without demanding he explain past experiences to you?"

"Why would I want to do that?" I counter. "I hate him."

"He's seemed to help you so far. Maybe he could help you by just being your friend right now- a friend you remember," she suggests.

I stare at her skeptically.

She puts her hands up in mock defense and says, "The choice is yours- it was just a suggestion."

In response to this, I just give her a dubious look.

A beat of silence passes between us and then she asks, "How are your other relationships- with your parents? with Serena?"

"Things at home are the same," I tell her. "I feel like I'm just living in a house with strangers- strangers who are really careful around me and expect me to live in their home as if it's my own."

"You don't feel at home there?" she asks.

Shaking my head, I say, "I'm actually beginning to- starting to feel as if it's always been home- but it's weird living with people who you don't know as your parents." Brushing at piece of dust off the hem of my skirt, I explain, "They keep trying to do family-oriented things with me- going to the movies and out to dinner and stuff."

"Well, that's nice," Dr. Shonberg offers.

I roll my eyes once more, saying, "Nice, but awkward and forced."

She gives me a look of understanding.

"And things with Serena are... strange."

"Strange?" she echoes. "How so?"

I shake my head. "The situation with talking to Dan about my memories makes things with her weird- I mean, she doesn't know, and I don't want to tell her, but Dan-"

"You're keeping it from Serena?"

Looking at Dr. Shonberg, I say, "Yes," as if this should be obvious.

"Why?" she wonders, her voice neutral.

"Because."

She shrugs, shaking her head, as if looking for an explanation. "Is it because you feel guilty for talking to her boyfriend?"

"No."

"Then...?"

"I don't know," I say. "She would want to get involved and I don't want her to because I don't remember her and it's just- it's complicated, okay?"

She nods. "Okay."

I stare at her challengingly, daring her to continue.

"But maybe you also would like to be alone with Dan," she suggests. "For whatever reason-"

"No!" I all but shout.

She shakes her head, "Okay-okay."

"I like Serena fine- in fact, we're going out tonight," I tell her, though I'm making this up on the spot.

"That's great," she says, and while she sounds pleased, something behind her words sounds dubious- as if she thinks I'm going to turn around and ask Dan to hang out instead.

And it's infuriating.

* * *

I refuse to follow Dr. Shonberg's advice and hang out with Dan for fun. I resent the fact that she believes he can help me in any way other than further explaining the memories I have that he is in. For some reason, she seems to think Dan and I are meant to be friends or something. And, no, I mean, I remember him, but that doesn't mean anything really.

So, with an unconscious hope of proving Dr. Shonberg wrong, I ask Serena to go out on Friday night.

"I want all of the girls there," I tell her. "However we used to hang out- whatever we used to do."  
And so she organizes it.

By nine o'clock on Friday night I'm dressed in a new, tightly-fitted purple dress and black velvet pumps. My hair's shiny and fluffy, and Serena has skillfully done my make-up. Six or seven girl are sitting and standing around Serena's family's hotel suite, and I don't know any of them very well. I'm on my second martini though, so I don't care.

"So Blair, how's your amnesia?"

Looking over, I see that Penelope is waiting for a response with her lip raised distastefully.  
Finishing the last of my drink, I pluck the olive out of my glass, pop it into my mouth, and say, "Great!" sarcastically.

Some of the girls stare at me in slight disgust, as if waiting for me to lead the ring. When I don't, Penelope asks, "Serena, haven't we pregamed enough? Can we please get to the main event?"

Putting down her cosmo, Serena stands in her silver, sparkly dress and smiles, clapping her hands together.

"We are going to Arc!" she announces.

This doesn't mean anything to me, but all the girls gasp and twitter and preen in excitement.

Upon seeing the blank look on my face, Serena takes my arm and says, "You're going to love it, B!"

I'll have to take her word for it.

* * *

Serena was right. I love Arc. Something about the white gauzy curtains hanging in different angels from the ceiling, the twinkling lights through all the darkness, the baby blue walls, half-hidden behind all the beautiful people- it makes me feel like I'm finally in a dream, instead of a nightmare. It makes me think of decadence and sweet royalty, French queens and desserts. And I find myself very much at home- so much so that I even dance and drink and laugh with the girls, not caring that I can't even really remember them.

"Are you having fun?" Serena asks loudly over the music, sometime before midnight.

My feet are killing me in my heels, I'm starving, and the room is spinning from too many martinis, but I am having fun, so I yell back, "Yeah!"

"I'm glad!" she smiles, giving me a half-hug. "I hope you don't mind, but I called some boys."  
Knotting my eyebrows, I follow her eyes and see Nate and Dan cutting their way over to us through the crowd.

The sight of Dan- under sprinkled lights and darkness, in a nice sweater and dark jeans, with music pounding around him- shocks me.

_He could help you..._

He's not bad-looking- and he's so nice-

"No, I-I don't mind," I stammer in return, cutting that drunken thought off before it can form any further.

"Hey," Nate says when they reach us, and he gives me and Serena each a hug.

"Hey," Dan says as well, kissing Serena briefly. "Waldorf," he says to me with a smile.  
I only manage a half-smile, because my stomach is flipping inexplicably.

"Let's dance!" Serena says, and she pulls Dan into the crowd to dance.

Nate looks after them longingly. Turning to me, he asks, "You want to dance?" and so we do.

"Did your grandmother like her gift?" I ask while we move through the gyrating bodies, because I haven't properly spoken to him since we went shopping about a month ago.

"She loved it," he replies, spinning me around and smiling. "Thank you for that."

I shake my head, feeling the room tilt. "My pleasure."

From a few yards off, I catch sight of Serena's golden head in the crowd, and I look over to see her and Dan in a liplock amidst the bodies. It's like a heavy disappointment dropping in my stomach, the collision and smashing of two worlds into one another- my remembered and forgotten.

"Are you okay?" Nate asks.

"I need another drink," I say, because nothing makes sense.

Nate looks surprised at my sudden change in demeanor, but he says, "Okay," and he gets me one, and then another, and another, until I'm good and drunk.

"I think you should probably slow down," he warns me as I lean against him briefly at the bar, but he's laughing a little.

Serena and Dan join us and I sway on my feet.

Dan laughs. "Stand much, Blair?"

"Did you get her drunk, Nate?" Serena demands.

He shakes his head. "She got herself drunk."

"I'm fine!" I say, my words more indignant than I mean for them to be. "Come on, Nate, let's dance!" I order, and I clumsily pull him back into the dancing crowd.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, as I dance very close to him, enjoying the warmth of his body so close to mine.

I ignore him and continue dancing- ignore the sway of the room by closing my eyes.

"Blair?"

I open my eyes and see him staring down at me, concerned. His green eyes are beautiful, his golden hair deliciously disheveled. His lips are so pink and inviting, his shoulders so broad and his chest so strong as I lean against him.

"Blair?" he says again. "Are you-"

But I cut him off, pressing my lips against his.

For a short moment he doesn't do anything, then he pushes himself away, holding me away at arm's length.

Staring at me, surprised, he asks, "Blair, what are you doing?"

"Kissing you," I reply, but my words slur together.

Suddenly, Serena is swooping in, saying, "We're leaving," her voice short and her grasp on my arm tight. Behind her, Dan trails, but he won't meet my or Nate's eyes.

"Serena, I don't-"

"Shut up, Blair, we're leaving," she says.

Her words make Dan look up and meet my gaze, and we stare at one another for a moment before Serena's dragging me away from Nate, through the crowd.

Outside, Dan comes out beside us on the sidewalk.

As if just remembering that her boyfriend is even here, Serena looks at Dan in brief annoyance and says, "Dan, I'm taking Blair home."

"I'll come with you-" he begins to offer, but Serena cuts him off.

"No," she says sternly. "Just go- I'll call you tomorrow."

He looks hurt by her words, but he recovers and says, "Okay," and walks off, only meeting my eyes for a moment in commiseral sympathy, before walking away.

In a huff, Serena hails a cab, and I concentrate on staying upright as my head swims and nausea clogs my throat.

When she's finally got a car, she pushes me into it roughly and then slides in after me. She gives the driver my address and then leans against the back seat, her arms folded.

I want to ask her what the fuck her problem is, but I'm afraid that if I open my mouth I'll throw up.

It's okay though, because Serena speaks before me.

"Why the fuck did you kiss Nate?" she demands. I'm about to respond when she continues, "You can't just keep jerking him around."

I'm surprised by the animosity behind her words, and where the hell is this even _coming_ from? She didn't say anything about me 'jerking' Nate around when she was defending me against my slut reputation. Or when she was sheepishly explaining my complications with Nate and Chuck to me. And I want to argue with her, but the cab is lurching around traffic in a way that is making bile rise up in my throat and I- I'm in a cab. The realization slams into place, and it jars my brain into panic. He's braking and speeding up a lot, he's swerving, he's stopping short- are we going to crash? Is my head going to split open in pain again?

A suddenly flash memory of red and blue lights, swirling- frighteningly sharp and clear- enters my mind. And it's just like my dream, except I'm awake- and Dan isn't in this memory.

When I don't say anything to Serena in response to her words, she looks away from me and says, "Fine. Whatever."

We drive in silence the rest of the way, Serena fuming, and me oscillating between not vomiting and keeping thoughts together as my world skips between the present and a now vivid glimpse of the past.

When we reach my building the doorman opens the door for me. I look over to Serena, expecting her to get out and come up with me, but she just looks down- as if she's been deeply, deeply hurt- and she says, "I'll see you later."

Feeling strangely twisted and confused, I let the doorman help me out of the car, and I stand there, watching the cab speed up and turn off the street.

I lean against the doorman as I stumble toward the door, and then I'm stopped in my tracks when I hear someone call my name.

"Blair!"

Turning, I see Dan walking up the street, coming in the opposite direction from where Serena just left.

"Wh-What?" is all I can muster.

"I thought I'd just follow you guys here- see if you were all right," he says, looking sheepish suddenly.

I would smile, but the action might make me lose it completely.

"So are you- okay, I mean?" he asks. "Serena was kind of rough with you back there."

All I can do is sway against the doorman.

"Right," Dan says, looking down uncomfortably. "I'll just- I'll go. I'll see you later."

He's turned, and he's walking back down the street, when I finally manage to get the words out without throwing up.

"Dan! I remembered something!"

And he turns back around and looks at me.

"Something- something you're not a part of."

He smiles, and takes the doorman's place in helping me up to the penthouse.


	17. Makes Me Wonder

**Author's Note:**** I'm glad so many of you have stuck with this story through the long waits! Because you've all been awesome (and from the Penn/Leighton encounter) I've been very inspired and that's why chapter sixteen is here now and not next year! Some of you asked how I met Penn Badgley and Leighton Meester, so here's the story: I was talking to my friend on facebook and she told me they had been filming Gossip Girl a few towns over that day. She's away at school so she couldn't go see if they were herself, but she told me to. So I grabbed one of my other friends and drove around town until we found where they were filming at the time. Long story short, my friend, me, and a couple of other girls (one of the readers of this story!) watched them filming in and outside this house, from the sidewalk. My friend and I stayed there for about four hours, freezing our asses off. At one point, Leighton stuck her head around and looked outside toward us. I waved and she waved back, and I nearly fainted. Then, a little later Penn was walking down the steps by the house and one of the girls asked if she could get a picture with him, then he took pictures with all of us (and he was really nice, and smelled really good, and I actually TOUCHED him!). Then when everyone was leaving and packing up, Leighton was walking down the driveway toward the vans that were driving them back to their trailers and I asked her if I could get a picture and she took one with us (she was gorgeous and dressed so well and really nice). It was sooooooo amazing. And if you'd like to see the stuff I saw being filmed it'll be on Monday night's episode! Now, onto the story!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

_New York, New York_

_Saturday, March 8_

_1:59:01 A.M. EST._

"I'm in the back of the cab and it's raining, and there are flashing lights, and someone keeps telling me to hold on- that they'll get me out."

Dan stares at me over his mug of coffee at the kitchen table, his eyes bearing down into mine as he listens intently once again.

"But you said this was like your dream- that this is what you dreamt," he says logically. "How do you know it's not the dream you're remembering?"

"Because it's different," I say, rolling my eyes. "I can tell the difference between remembering a dream and remembering a memory, Humphrey- God!"

He sits back and puts his hands up in a kind of defense, letting his impatience show through for the first time since we began this pow-wow. Which is surprising, because when I drunkenly pulled him up to the penthouse, Eleanor and Harold gave him a hell of a time.

"Who are you?" Harold demanded, and even though he's a gay, _former_ Upper East Sider, and he was wearing a red, silken robe and cashmere slippers, he looked pretty damn menacing as he marched up to Dan in the entrance hall.

"Blair was out with Serena," Eleanor announced, staring at him suspiciously.

I tried to intervene, but my tongue was tied.

Dan began to explain himself, but Eleanor cut him off. "Wait," she said. "I know you."

"Did you get her _drunk_?" Harold demanded, hardly caring whether or not his ex-wife knew Dan or not.

"She got herself drunk," Dan explained, as I clumsily stepped out of my stilettos, leaning against him briefly for support.

"You're the one Blair remembers," Eleanor said, and Harold stepped back briefly in surprise.

"Yes," Dan replied, uncomfortable with the intensity with which Eleanor and Harold were staring at him. "I am."

"But she left with Serena," Harold repeated insistently. "Why are _you_ bringing her home?"

I interrupted here and managed to coherently say, "I got into a fight with Serena- I need to talk to Dan."

Surprisingly, Harold and Eleanor looked relieved- hearing that I had gotten into a fight with Serena, that there was this return to normalcy for them. Still, Harold regarded Dan suspiciously.

"Miss Eleanor, why don't I make tea for Miss Blair and the gentlemen in the kitchen?" Dorota suddenly interrupted, joining us from the living room in a pink robe and flannel pajamas. "I keep eye on them."

This seemed to mollify Eleanor and Harold, and Dorota made us coffee and set out some biscottis and then left us to talk. And I got the feeling that if the situation had happened piror to the accident, neither of them would have even waited up for me- and therefore wouldn't have known if I brought a guy home. But I think my loss of my memory, my supposed vulnerability, and the fact that Dan is from Brooklyn- and is not Nate- has brought out the guard dogs in them. Dorota, however, seems to realize I can take care of myself though, because she only checks on us once or twice after making us our coffee and leaving.

Currently, Dan regains his patience and says, "So, you remember the accident."

Sighing, I say. "Yes."

We sit in silence for several long moments, before he looks at me and asks, "Are you okay?"

My head is pounding and I would kill for a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich and a tall milkshake, but the room has stopped spinning and I can focus on forming full thoughts instead of not throwing up.

"I am," I reply, feeling genuinely grateful that someone I _know_ cares about me right now- even if it is Dan Humphrey. "Thanks."

After another long moment, Dan says, "I'm sorry about Serena."

This takes me by surprise, and I say, "You don't need to apologize for her."

"I know- but- I feel like I do," he continues. "I don't know what got into her or why-"

"I kissed Nate," I say. "Clearly that pissed her off for some reason."

Now that I'm saying it, it seems suddenly apparent. She slept with him, didn't she? She was interested in him at one point, wasn't she? So why wouldn't my kissing Nate piss her off? Myabe she has feelings for him even still.

Looking over at Dan, I see that he's staring into his coffee in preoccupation, as if he's come to the same conclusion I have.

"I should go," he says suddenly, standing up and pushing his chair back roughly.

"Dan, I don't-"

He waves away my words as he pulls his coat on. "Don't worry about it. Congratulations on the memory," he says, and he heads out of the kitchen.

I follow him all the way to the elevator, skipping after him in cold, stockinged feet.

As he pushes the down button on the elevator, I feel something intangible slipping away from me at a frighteningly rapid pace. It feels like the walls caving in, the ground giving way beneath my feet, my world crashing in on me.

Without warning, I say, "Dan!"

He turns and meets my eyes, and something passes between us that I can't define. All I'm sure of is that it's making me feel weak and light, and it's pulling me toward him in a way that is surprising even me. And, suddenly, he's looking at my lips and I'm staring at his throat, and we're growing closer and closer. And the elevator is opening behind him, but he's not turning away. Instead, his hand is on my waist and he's pulling me even closer. And I can smell him all around me- the coffee on his breath, his soap, his detergent- and it clouds my thoughts.

He stares into my eyes, blinks once, and then he's kissing me. His mouth is warm and sweet and firm against mine and, like all of Dan, it's so familiar to me- even if I've never kissed him before today, of this I am certain. It's like watching Audrey Hepburn snuggled up in bed, like running through the rain, like being charged with fire and ice. It's delicious and foreign and strange, and so, so familiar. One hand is on my hip, the other pressing me to him at the small of my back. And my fingers are in his hair, and I want so much more. But suddenly he's pulling away and I'm left very, very cold, staring at him with smudged lip gloss and a racing heart.

"We can't do this," he says, wiping his mouth on his hand, squeezing his jaw tensely.

"Dan," I say, taking a step toward him, trying to reach out to him, but he's reeling backword toward the elevator, and he's shaking his head.

"I have to go," he announces curtly, as if he's angry, and he goes into the elevator and jabs at the down button. After a moment, the doors are closing and he's gone.

* * *

That night I fall asleep as the sun is coming up. Before I fall asleep though, I think of Dan and Serena, and of Nate. I think of the car accident, of what I can remember and what I've been told but don't really know for sure. I think of Dr. Shonberg's words about Dan and cringe at the fact that I know I'm going to share this kiss with her and see what she has to say about it. I also cringe and grimace at the idea of going to school on Monday. My stomach completely turns over, however, when I recall the way Dan looked so angry and disgusted, and the way he turned and just left without a word after we kissed.

Laying in bed, I stare at my cell phone on my pillow, willing it to ring as my head thrums in pain and my mouth goes drier and drier.

Serena, Nate, anyone.

Dan, please call. _Please_.

But nothing.

I fall asleep with the sun, and I don't have a single dream.


	18. Turning Tables

**Author's Note:** Hi. Truly, inexcusably sorry for the delay in updates. It's been a roller-coaster year and I haven't really had a lot of time for fan fiction. Not to mention, I was very stuck with this story. This chapter might just stick me in a gutter again, because, while I know where I want to go, it's hard getting there. I hope you enjoy the chapter, it's a little bit all over the place. If you hate it, let me know. Seriously. If it's received poorly, I'll totally rewrite. Let me know!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

_New York, New York_

_Monday, March 10_

_7:04:05 A.M. EST._

Serena calls on Monday morning, but she doesn't even try to _sound_ sick.

"I don't feel well," she says, her voice flat, but pinched with aggravation. "I'm not going to school today. Do you think you can get there on your own?"

The condescension and underlying jab do not go unnoticed by me and I spit back, "I should be fine without you as my chaperone, thanks." Squeezing my phone in anger I cheerily say, "Feel better!" and hang up on her.

By the time the town car Eleanor calls for me arrives at the penthouse, I'm in an awful mood. I'm mad about Serena and her reaction to– I'm assuming– my dancing with Nate. I'm feeling wretched about Dan and the way _he_ reacted to our kiss. I'm tired of not being familiar with everything around me– with these people who I'm supposed to recognize as my parents, with the kids who are supposed to be my friends, with my school, my home, my life. And my head is throbbing from the inside out.

It's this feeling of being horribly stuck low down, and sinking all the time, that makes me resolve to not sit around and lose Dan. He's the only thing I remember– the only one thing I'm familiar with in this mess that my life has become. I don't care if we kissed. I don't care if I hate him and everything he represents. I'm not losing him because of that. And I don't know why I kissed him, why he kissed me, why we kissed, but I'm not going to think about it. I'm not going to think about how comfortable he can make me, how scared he makes me, how important and interesting and powerful he makes me feel, without even trying to. Or how he also makes me feel so power_less_. Anxious and on edge and at home all at once.

I'm not going to think about that. But I _know_ I'm not going to lose him.

With this resolve in mind, I get out of the town car at school and vow to talk to him the moment I see him. This turns out to be sooner than expected, because as soon I get out of the car I spot him crossing the street from the bus stop.

Shaking out my curls, I stride over to him and step in his path, saying, "Humphrey, I need a word."

Dan looks startled, and then nervous, and he looks around, saying: "Blair, I don't think that's such a good–"

"Oh, spare me your pitiful attempt at a letdown, Cabbage Patch," I quickly snip back, before I can feel the ball of hurt in the pit of my stomach. "I'm not here to confess my love for you, or what ever other Fitzgeraldian scenario you have planned out in your head."

He looks taken aback– and maybe a little hurt– by this, and he closes his mouth, tenses his jaw, waits.

"I just want to say that the other night was a mistake," I tell him, my voice steadier than I thought it would be. "I was slightly inebriated and you're the only person I remember– It was a misfiring of synapses– And it's not going to happen again."

It sounds like I have the upper hand, like I'm the one making it clear to him that there will be no more kissing, no sort of romance between us. Like he might want one. Keeping myself in control– as if I even had any control– is comforting, and I feel better just thinking of Dan's reaction, his submission.

Rubbing his jaw nervously, he finally says, "No, it's not going to happen again," but his tone is not submissive. In fact, it's almost commanding.

Wait.

"Look, Blair, I know I'm the only person you remember, and I'd like to help you where I can and be there for you if you need me, but I don't think we should hang out anymore."

Dread, like a steel, cartoon anvil, drops in my stomach. Hard.

What?

No. I was supposed to be in control here. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"What?"

He shakes his head, looking guilty and sorry, which only makes this whole thing that much worse. "Blair," he says my name again, and it hurts. "Things have just gotten out of hand– with Nate and everything that happened– I have a _girlfriend_– Your _best friend_."

"I don't _know_ her!" I counter. "Why does that even matter? I'm not trying to _steal_ you, Humphrey."

"I've gotten too wrapped up in this," he says, looking away from me for a moment. "I'll be here if you need me, but I think you should just focus on living your life the way it is now."

I feel like I'm going to throw up. I can't settle for this life. I can't just be okay with this not knowing or remembering. And I can't lose the only person I know– I can't lose _him_.

I shake my head at him, shining disdain and disgust through my eyes, my lips, my nose, my _pores_. Because I can't lose him, but I can't let anyone see me beg, my weakness peaking through, if they aren't going to fight for me. "So you're just done with me?"

Dan, frustrated now, says, "Blair, it's not like you and I were even friends before."

This, though I know it's true, doesn't hurt any less, and I blink at him in shock and paralysis.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long beat, when he's digested his words. "I didn't mean–"

"No, you've made your point," I reply. "I'm sorry I imposed on your happiness by remembering you. Next time I get smashed head long into oncoming traffic, I'll ask to remember some other unfortunate charity case when I wake up."

Before he can reply, I turn on my heel and stride away from the school. I continue up the street, one block, two blocks, four, before I finally stop and collapse on a random stoop. I bury my face in my hands and try to breathe, but I've never felt so alone in my life. I've never wished to remember anyone else in my entire life– to know anyone else I could recognize and go to for support– like I do right now. I just want to lean on someone, finally feel some kind of relief.

I remember something, and quickly pull my phone out of my bag, scroll through past numbers and find the one I need.

* * *

"Why'd you kiss him?"

I should be in class. The school will probably call Eleanor and Harold and they'll freak out, not knowing where I am. They're probably calling my cell phone right now, losing their minds with worry. But I've turned my phone off and it's tucked away in my bag. I'm not thinking about any of them at the moment.

"I don't know," I finally reply. "It just happened."

I'm sitting in Dr. Shonberg's office, sunken into the big leather armchair across the room from her. When I called she had only just got to her office, but she agreed to see me, as she had time before her first appointment of the day. So here I am, spilling my weekend and all of the feelings that have come with it, to a woman I don't have to remember or know from before– to the only person I feel like I can lean on right now.

"And you told him it was never going to happen again?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's not," I say quickly. "Dan is with Serena, and it's not like that between us."

"It was like that enough for you two to kiss," she counters.

I shake my head. "That's not the point."

"You're upset that he's kind of pulled the plug on your friendship," she says. "Or anything else between you."

"Only because I don't know anyone else," I explain. "It sucks to be this alone– To lose the one person you _know_."

She nods. "Is it possible you've also gotten close to Dan? That you enjoy his friendship?"

"No."

"Why are you so quick to answer negatively?"

I roll my eyes. "Because it's Dan Humphrey."

She shrugs. "Yes, it is. But why does that diminish the possibility of you two genuinely being friends– or you genuinely wanting to be his friend?"

I scoff.

"Blair, there might be a reason you remember him," she says. "Maybe he meant more to you than you ever considered, and it was in your subconscious all along."

This makes me stop. Why _did_ I remember Dan, out of everyone in my life?

"Maybe somewhere in your mind you did think he might be worth something, that you could be closer to him– maybe just as friends– but you never gave him or yourself that chance," she says. "Don't rule out the possibility."

I'm silent for a long, long minute, taking this in. Finally, I say, "That may be. Or not. But, either way, it doesn't matter now. Dan and I are no longer friends. Serena's not even talking to me either."

"Maybe you should talk to her," Dr. Shonberg suggests. "Try to see if she'll explain where she's coming from. And then maybe if you're on better terms with her, Dan and your friendship can fall back into place."

I don't see that happening, and I'm not about to grovel to Serena, after how she acted this weekend, but I don't tell the doctor that.

"Maybe if you talk to Serena you'll understand why she reacted the way she did when she saw you with Nate," Dr. Shonberg suggests.

"Well," I reply. "She did have sex with him, apparently– maybe she's just predatory."

Dr. Shonberg considers this, saying, "That doesn't seem fair."

I snort. "Fair isn't really a word these people are familiar with."

She smiles is commiseration, then asks: "What are you going to do next then?"

"Nothing," I tell her truthfully. "I'm not going to beg Serena or Dan to be my friend– I'm not going to fight for people I don't know, or for people who don't care about me."

This makes her frown in response.

"I just want to get through the _day_," I tell her. "That's all I can ask for right now."

"You can't ask for more?"

"I tried," I tell her, sighing. "The answer was no."

* * *

When I get out of Dr. Shonberg's office I don't go back to school, or home. Instead, I take a car to Rockefeller Plaza, and get a giant, purple-iced cupcake from Magnolia. Then, I walk over to the Empire State Building and pay to ride the elevator to the top. I don't turn my phone on– I don't even take it out of my bag– and I resolve to not think about Eleanor or Harold, or Dan or Serena, or anyone, until the sun is out of the sky.

The wind is fast on the top deck, but I sit and shiver on a bench anyway. I look out over the city, appreciating the view that is– somehow– familiar to me. Where I don't know my best friends or my parents, I know this. I know the city like an old friend, and I don't wonder why I know it. I wonder why I know Dan, why I can only remember scenes that he is in, and only our parts together, but I don't wonder at this. This is obvious. This is good. This won't turn its back on me.

I feel sad. Even after talking to Dr. Shonberg and unloading it all on someone. It doesn't make me feel any better about being alone, or being cut off by Dan. Dan wasn't exactly a friend, but he was someone I knew, and it was nice to talk to him and have him help me piece together the memories I did have, and the dreams that were plaguing me. He comforted me strangely enough. And it helped to know I could call him instead of a stranger if I needed to. And he could make me laugh– even if it was at his expense– and he could make me smile when every thing and every one and every day was like walking through mud.

I suddenly feel him on my lips again, with his hand on my waist, and I close my eyes against it, swallowing down the tug of apprehension in my stomach.

No.

It's not like that.

We're not going there. It's Dan. Dan _Humphrey_. Cabbage Patch.

Damn it, that therapist's psycho-babble about my subconscious and hidden meanings and all that bull shit is getting into my brain.

Either way? Dan doesn't want to even be my friend, so it doesn't matter. We are done.

And if Serena wants to come around and stop being a little bitch about everything, then she and I can be friends. If not, then it's really not a huge loss to me. She can be fun and nice, but I don't even know her that well.

A memory slams into me like the front of a bus, leaving me winded and breathless on the top of the skyscraper.

Me, bent over a toilet bowl, throwing up every foul feeling in my body. I'm nervous about school– I have to get into Yale– I'm worried about my parents– Dad is so distant– and Nate doesn't love me– why does he look at Serena like that? Why is he always stoned?

And suddenly Serena is picking me up off the floor, helping me wash my face and hair, and brush my teeth, she's getting me into silk pajamas and putting me into bed, plying me with Gatorade and putting in _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. She's laying with me in bed, making me laugh, listening to me cry, making me dance a dramatic waltz with her to 'Moon River.'

I remember Nate telling me he and Serena had sex, in a candle lit room. I remember crying. I remember caring, because I loved him so much– or was sure it was love. I felt hurt, more hurt than I ever had before, betrayed by the two people I was closest to.

I remember Eleanor– my mother– throwing plates and screaming when she found out about Roman and Dad. I remember the divorce and being alone, Nate distant, Serena absent.

It's a rush of memories and emotions and I suddenly know how I am, where I've been and what I've done. It colors Dan in a new way. I know where he's fit in my life. He's not the only one I know, but I still want him around. I did enjoy his company– I don't even know what I'm thinking, but it's true. I want Dan in my life more than anything, whether I remember everyone else or not. And I have to make it happen.

I don't want to– can't lose Dan. I don't want to hurt Serena. I don't want to be one-hundred percent honest about it. I can't admit it to myself.

There must be some way.

There has to be something….

But I couldn't…. I _wouldn't_...


	19. Call it What You Want

**Author's Note: **Sorry sorry sorry sorry for the delay between updates. Things have been so unbelievably crazy with school and work and everything, but I'm finally done with the semester and have all summer to get back to some much needed (and sorely missed) writing! Special thanks to taconinja and Katie33434343 for giving me the push to get this chapter up! Hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter Eighteen**

_New York, New York_

_Monday, March 10_

_7:01:37 EST._

This is unacceptable though.

Dan? Dan _Humphrey_? _Cabbage Patch_ Humphrey? Of _Brooklyn_?

I don't care if we kissed. I don't care if I have some perverse, lingering connection to him. My thoughts and actions have sprung from a brain injury, and are therefore excusable, but it stops now. I'm going to nip this thing in the bud before it gets out of hand. I'm going to tell everyone I have my memory back, make up with Serena, reconcile with Nate and Chuck, and everything's going to go back to normal. Everything's going to be like it was before the accident.

Simple.

Feeling set in my resolution, I take the elevator back down to the street, and call for a car– because there's still no way I'm taking a cab just yet. On the way home, I grow excited. I think of Mom and Dad, and it feels like I haven't seen them in weeks, even though I know I have. It feels like I'm returning home from a long time away, and I begin to fidget with anxious excitement, anticipated relief. Everything's going to finally go back to normal.

When the elevator opens onto the penthouse, Mom and Dad come running into the room. Before I can get a word in, they begin haranguing me.

"Where have you _been_?" Mom demands, with a look in her eye that would turn Medusa to stone. "The school called this morning and said you never came in!" Her voice is bordering on hysterical. "Then you didn't answer your phone and nobody knew where you were– not Serena, not Nate or Chuck, not even that Daniel person–"

I cut her off, saying, "You called _Dan_?"

"We were about to call the _police_, Blair!" she continues on her tirade, Dad standing with his arms folded in the doorway of the living room. "Where have you _been_ all day?"

"I was walking around," I tell them, stepping further into the foyer and untying my coat. I see Dorota step up behind Dad, looking in on the scene, worry etching her face too.

Oh, Dorota, I've missed you!

"Walking _around_?" Mom echoes. "Walking _around_? Harold, did you hear that? She was walking _around_!"

"Blair, it really isn't wise to do that sort of thing in your condition," Dad says, and his voice, so deep and soft and concerned, is like rose hips on every wound and problem and trouble of the past few months.

"Not wise?" Mom counters, looking as if this is the most ludicrous understatement she's ever had the misfortune to hear. "She could have been kidnapped or raped, she could have gotten lost– she could have ended up in _Queens_!"

And wouldn't that have been a tragedy?

"Why did you skip school?" she demands of me, turning back to face me once more.

This is it.

"I wasn't feeling well," I begin, a smile slipping my lips. "I just needed a day off from everything and then– I– I remembered."

They just stare at me for a long moment.

"I remember everything!" I say, a grin taking up my face now. "I got my memory back!"

Mom jumps into motion, tears springing to her eyes as she runs forward and pulls me to her. She's sobbing into my hair, saying, "Thank God!" over and over when Dad steps up and takes me into his arms as well. "My bear," he whispers, his voice choked with tears as well. "Oh, my Blair bear."

I hug Dorota as well, and pretty soon, we're all crying. Dorota breaks out some champagne and cookies, and Mom leaves the room like a whirling dervish, saying she needs to call the doctors, the van der Woodsens, everyone we know. From the hall I hear her shout that she'll throw a party to celebrate that will put all of Lily's to shame. I'm feeling so happy and content, wrapped up in the moment like a bubble, that I don't even think of any of the possible problems awaiting me on the outside.

* * *

I'm sitting on my bed watching _Funny Face_ when Serena appears in my doorway. It's nearly midnight and I'm exhausted, but when I see her, I sit up and mute the TV.

"B?"

"Hi, S."

Serena is a beautiful, zooming mess as she runs across the room and throws herself on my bed, on me. Like my parents, she is crying, and I just hold her and hug her back. I'm not sure what to make of our last fight– of her problem with me kissing Nate, of her running out in a huff and then lying about being sick not to go to school with me. I don't know what to think about kissing her boyfriend, but I don't bother with that one, simply push it from my mind. I do know that I'm so happy to see her, so happy to know her again.

When she finally pulls away, sitting up on my bed, she grips my hand in hers and begins to babble under her tears.

"B, I'm sorry for everything," she says. "I was such a bitch and freaked out on you and you didn't know– It was just so hard and I missed you so much." She shakes her head. "Do you forgive me? Are we still best friends?"

"Of course we are!" I say, pulling her to me and hugging her once more. "We always were."

"You really have your memory back?" she asks, sitting up again. "You remember everything?"

I smile. "It's all me again, S."

She sighs in relief, hugs me, and kisses me on the cheek. After she's shed her jacket and shoes, she climbs into bed with me, and, propped up against my pillows, we continue watching _Funny Face_ together.

"Hey, B."

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think you remembered Dan?"

I stiffen beside her. I don't want to talk about Dan. I don't want to think about Dan. The whole happening was a fluke, a misunderstanding of brainwaves, a trauma-induced clusterfuck, that's it.

"The universe has an odd sense of humor," is all I can think of for a reply.

She smiles a little bit, and then, to my relief, drops the subject all together.

* * *

I want to put _How to Steal a Million_ in the DVD player, but Serena is asleep beside me and I don't want to wake her up. Instead, I just watch some reruns of _Sex and the City_, because even though I'm dead tired, I can't seem to sleep.

When my phone begins to blare loudly from somewhere near my feet, I snatch it up and answer it without checking the ID, afraid to wake Serena, and I hiss, "Hello?"

"Blair?"

My spine stiffens and my heart begins to beat loud and fast in my chest. I look over at Serena, who is still sound asleep behind me, and delicately extricate myself from the bed, tiptoe to my bathroom, and go inside, closing and locking the door behind me.

"What do you want, Humphrey?"

"Your parents called me today," he says. "They said you were missing– I wanted to see if you were okay."

What was it he had said to me today? Oh, yes. He had gotten too 'wrapped up in this.' So, why is suddenly worried? Why is he suddenly my _friend_?

With acid coating my throat, I hiss, "Oh, what, are we _friends_ now, Cabbage Patch?"

He takes in a breath and says, "I realize what I said this morning was a little selfish, Blair, but I was worried– I mean, after our conversation today I thought–"

"What? What did you think?" I ask flippantly. "Did you think I would throw myself from the Brooklyn Bridge out of desperation for our lost friendship?"

He's silent.

"I can assure you, I'm fine."

"I am sorry, Blair."

"Well, you are fully off the hook as far as your amnesia duties are concerned," I tell him. "I have my memory back now, so we don't need to be friends."

The words almost stick in my throat, but I manage to get them all out without incident, without evidence of doubt or upset, and I swallow hard.

"You– You have your memory back?"

"Do you have a secret brain injury too?" I counter. "Yes. I'm all better. So, your service is no longer needed."

"Blair, I–"

"See you around, Cabbage Patch."

He's trying to say something when I disconnect the call, but I don't care what he wants to say. I don't need Dan Humphrey in my life anymore, and there are no excuses for us hanging out or speaking. He's Serena's boyfriend, not my friend. Everything can go back to normal. Everything will be fine again.

There's a knock at the bathroom door and I jump.

Quietly, I move to open the door and see Serena looking at me blearily from the other side.

"B?" she says, her voice caught up in sleep. "Who were you talking to?"

I shake my head, lie. "Nobody."

She's still half-asleep, so she doesn't question me further, just turns and crawls back into my bed, flops down onto the pillows.

Silently, I creep across the room and go downstairs. I'm hoping to make myself some tea, and snatch up some of Mom's luxury truffles but I find Dorota in the kitchen, already heating up a teakettle in sweats.

"Dorota?"

She jumps a little, turns and says, "Miss Blair! What you doing awake?"

"I couldn't sleep," I reply, sitting down at the kitchen table. "What are you doing?"

"Me neither," she says. "I try to make tea to help."

"Vanilla?"

She smiles, nods. "Yes."

She checks the kettle then turns and looks at me. "Why you can't sleep?"

I shrug.

"You happy?" she prompts. "To remember."

"Of course I'm happy."

"But?"

I peer at her across the kitchen as the kettle begins to whistle, and for a moment she holds my gaze. When I don't break she finally faces the stove and turns it off, gets us some mugs and fills them with hot water. When she drops the vanilla tea bags into the mugs the smell instantly fills the room, and I smile, curling around my cup.

Sitting down across from me, she asks, "You tell Lonely Boy you remember?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Yes."

"You two maybe be friends now?"

"Why would we do that? There's no reason to."

"Because you like Mister Lonely Boy," she says. "You two get along better."

"No."

"Yes."

"I only hung out with him because I remembered him– by some sick twist of my brain chemistry after the accident– and he tried to help me remember everything else."

"Yes, but maybe you two be friends now– that you remember everything."

"No."

"Miss Blair–"

"I'm going to sleep now," I say, no longer wanting to put up with this.

Why is everyone so curious about my relationship with Dan? It was a coincidence that I remembered, and my feelings towards him were twisted because of it. That doesn't mean we need to be friends. Especially when he made it so very clear that he didn't want to have anything to do with me because of some loyalty to Serena, because he doesn't want me to be too dependent on him or something?

Without another word, I take my mug and go back upstairs and drink it silently on my bed, with Serena's still figure sleeping beside me, taking up most of my bed.

Truthfully, I don't know what I'm doing, what I'm feeling, where I'm going, but I have my memory again, and I'm going to get my life back on track. That means ignoring any feelings I might have had– or convinced myself I had for Humphrey.


End file.
